Undisclosed Desires
by sliceofperfection
Summary: It's a terrible fate for a woman to love one man, and being forced to marry another. It's even worse when she begins to fall in love with her husband, only discover his heart has secrets of its own. An AU young!Cobert fic that explores the idea that they were not one another's first choice for husband & wife before love blossomed between them.
1. Just Writing Letters

_**So I didn't **_intend _**to start another fic, but well, here we are. First of all, I want to give a **_HUGE _**thank you to the kind-hearted breakingunbreaking (via tumblr) for requesting this story &amp; helping to coach me through the overall premise in the first place. You're a gem &amp; this fic wouldn't exist without you so...thank you, my dear! I owe you a great deal.**_

_**For those of you wondering, this was a request pulled from a detail in one of the Cobert drabbles I wrote on tumblr. It was intended to be nothing more than a throwaway line, but apparently it stuck out, and this fic was born. The sentence read: "Love letters from her former life that she kept hidden away from him that incited his jealousy." Well, what I tried to condense into a one-shot or mini-series turned into this sweeping epic of a multi-chapter fic hah. (Like I need another novel length fic on my hands *face palms*) Anyway, this is going to be rather lengthy as I currently have 14 Chapters outlined, and no end in sight, so I'll try my best to keep it interesting. As always, if you feel inclined or find some time, your thoughts would be much appreciated. I am always open to criticism so long as it's constructive. Enjoy lovelies! **_

* * *

Her gloved hands ran along the smooth marble banister of the second landing (or the bridge as Harold and her used to call) as she leaned forward slightly to watch the scene unfolding below.

Mother stood in the center of the atrium, barking orders to the staff, who were escorting the various cases and trunks out onto the front lawn where three carriages awaited them.

"Careful with that, Miller!" She shrieked suddenly, gliding towards one of the young men, who carried several precariously stacked boxes in his arms.

He jumped, and if it weren't for her quick reflexes, the top box would have fallen to the floor instead of in Martha Levinson's outstretched hands. "These are jewels from the late Mrs. Levinson!" She scolded, blindly passing them to her right where Mrs. Brown, the housekeeper stood. "Goodness knows if we misplace them she'll crawl out of her grave, and drag me down with her."

A snickering sound erupted from behind Cora's right shoulder, and she saw something flickered across her periphery. Standing up straighter, she turned to find Harold meandering closer.

Arms folded in front of his chest, he slowly shook his head and let out a low, amused whistle, "I find it hard to believe after all that Granny and Mother put one another through, a string of misplaced pearls hardly matters." He glanced down at the scene in question below.

"They meant a great deal to Father," Cora eyed him critically before realigning her focus on what was transpiring downstairs as well. Folding her leather clad hands together, they rested against her middle as she added plainly, "I imagine Mother just wants to honor that."

Harold snorted again, pressing his forearms onto the railing as he stooped forward. "They never honored her in this life, why should she do them any favors now?"

"Because she loved him," Cora affirmed softly, arching a brow before reminding him. "And in spite of everything that happened, Father loved them too."

He hummed, his mouth twitching up at the corners. "And true love conquers all, now does it?" He quipped lightly, shifting his weight.

"Not _all_," Cora remarked stiffly, lowering her gaze.

She watched Mrs. Brown and her mother, heads bent low in conversation while Mrs. Levinson's hand swirled about every now and again as if to emphasis some point. Mrs. Brown then hurried towards the front door and out onto the lawn after the next round of luggage made its way outside. Cora's gaze trailed after her departing figure, and it was then she noticed Harold studying her intently.

After a moment or so, he murmured in agreement, "No, I suppose not." Pushing off of his forearms, Harold stood up straighter and wondered, "Have you said goodbye to him then?"

She swallowed hard, her hear jerking to the side. Eyes trained forward, she answered hollowly, "No."

Harold let out a heavy, lamenting breath, "Cora."

"Well what would be the point of that?" She turned sharply to face him. Her eyes stung when she found a melancholic pity staring back at her. Blinking several times, she set her jaw and added, hands flying out to the side in exasperation, "We're not going to marry so there's really no benefit in him seeing me off. It's not as though our friendship can continue once I'm married."

"_Once you're married_, probably not," Harold argued lightly, arching a calculating brow. "But there's nothing that says you can't continue on with it _before_ that time comes."

When she didn't appear convinced, he suggested with a nonplussed air, "It's just writing letters."

Cora rolled her eyes at this, placing her hands on the stone banister. "Mother would never allow it."

"Mother doesn't _have to know_," He pointed out, tilting his face forward, a mischievous glint dancing through his eyes.

"How could she not?" She frowned, her brow creasing in confusion. "She keeps track of all of my correspondences."

"There are ways around such things, dear sister," Harold remarked with a wry half grin.

Cocking her head to the side, she inquired, "What ways?" She couldn't think of any that wouldn't compromise her virtue or cause her any shame.

"Well…" He squinted, thinking for a moment, "you could always..._write to me_. And then if you _happen_ to _accidentally_ slip in an additional piece of correspondence to a Mr. Adelberg, I'd be happy to deliver it to him on your behalf." He shrugged again, casually leaning his arm against the railing again.

"You?" She balked, a teasing peal of laughter ringing through her words. "The-Secret-Keeper-For-All-But-A-Minute?" Smirking at him she shook her head, "No, thanks."

"Hey, I happen to like David a great deal!" Harold exclaimed, swatting her forearm playfully with the back of his hand. Tilting back his head he asserted in a tone of mock seriousness, "And I think it's a damn shame the two of you can't marry. You look rather smart together."

Cora blushed at the truth behind his words. Peering down at her feet, she chewed on her bottom lip, stifling the knowing smile that threatened to spread.

It was hard to disagree with Harold on this point. But at the same time, she couldn't allow it be known she was altogether pleased by this statement. There was far too much at stake as far as her relationship with David Adelberg was concerned. She'd certainly risk more than her heart if she confirmed what everyone else merely speculated.

"I don't know Harold..." She sighed halfheartedly, elbow slumping against the banister.

"Well either way," He remarked lightly, opening his palms to the side, "whatever you decide, the offer stands."

She was grateful for her brother's offer. But at the same time, a splinter of suspicion worked its way into her brain. He was, after all, Mother's favorite. Just as she was once Father's.

This thought brought a slight pang to her heart, but she managed to brush it away. Banishing all feelings of sadness, she allowed her curiosity to overtake her, and Cora asked him, "Why would you do this for me though?"

He blinked back at her, clearly surprised by her question. But then his confusion was replaced with a warm smile that reached the surface of his honey hued eyes, "Because you are my dear sister, and I shall miss you terribly while you're gone."

"Don't make me laugh," She snorted.

Cora's head turned to both sides, watching another round of trunks and hatboxes march down both sets of staircases that wound down to the first floor in a curved half circle.

"You'll _love_ having the place all to yourself," She mused lightly, her eyes sweeping across the finer details of the front room, trying to memorize everything about the temporary home she'd soon leave behind.

The red and gold oriental printed rug that ran down the center of both sets of staircases. The black iron spindles that curled beneath the marble stone railing. The white crown molding that stood out regally against the burnt red walls adorned with medieval tapestries and paintings Isidore and Martha had carefully procured with their new found wealth. The cherry wood table with roses carved into the scrolled legs, a white and periwinkle printed bone china vase that sat atop it, full of whatever seasonal flowers grew outside in the gardens. And then the massive chandelier dripping with sparkling crystals, brass candle holders, now vacant and dull against the glittering pieces that shone in the sunlight. The two narrow floor to ceiling windows that were at least ten feet tall, lined either side of the heavy oak door with black iron handle and knocker, letting in a generous amount of sunlight.

What she once thought to be entirely ostentatious decorum seemed more beautiful to her now. And she envied Harold for still having time to enjoy the house.

"Well I won't deny _that_," Harold teased.

Cora chuckled softly, casting her attention back onto his round, boyish face.

Once their quiet laughter died down, Harold cleared his throat, and took her hands in his. "But really Cora," He adopted a more solemn tone, "you've helped me through a few sticky spots over the years. It seems only fitting that I should return the favor."

She smiled broadly, the corners of her eyes crinkling. Squeezing his hands tightly, she admitted, "I'll miss you too, Harold."

Some things, she learned, were better off unsaid. He seemed to agree with this as he nodded mutely and then let go of her hands without another word.

No sooner was she about to suggest they head downstairs than Martha was calling up to them, her authoritative tone flecked with impatience. "What are the two of you doing up there, idling about? Come along now, Cora! We're going to be late. You too Harold!"

Both of them jumped to attention and began descending the left side, heads bobbing while they walked side by side. They heard their mother murmur something along the lines of, "Just wait until Sally Walton sees we've gone, she's going to _die from jealousy_."

Cora bit her tongue, shooting a quick look of amusement at Harold before looking down.

He chuckled softly, leaning close enough to whisper in his sister's ear, "And Mother's going to sing the Hallelujah chorus at Mrs. Walton's funeral."

Luckily, Martha was too transfixed with making a grand exit from Levinson Manor to have heard them snicker among themselves. Once outside, they all took great time in saying their goodbyes to one another and the staff. Martha waved enthusiastically to Sally Walton, doing her best to mask her scowling expression from her veranda next door.

Not everyone was pleased to learn The Levinson's might soon be counted as their equals or well above them once Cora married. But Martha chose not to notice.

Once she slid into the carriage beside her daughter, it was apparent nothing could sink her buoyant mood. Not even the scowling Sally Walton, who was already a regular companion of the Mrs. Astor's could force her to look back as the carriage slowly pulled away from their Newport Home.

Cora, on the other hand, couldn't help but leaned forward to gaze out the tiny window. She watched as the familiar houses she'd come to know over the last several years rolled on by. The covered verandas where she took tea and lunch with the other young girls her age, now bare. The expansive, green lawns where they played badminton were vacant. There were few people strolling along the cement sidewalk that ran parallel to the road, however, no one that she recognized or desired to bid an enthusiastic farewell to.

That is, until they rounded the corner of Bellevue and Grant.

It happened so quickly, she wasn't sure if her mind was playing tricks on her or not. But she could have sworn her eyes locked with his, stalling her heart momentarily. Crystalline blue found softened steel, and his mouth edged into a slight curve, hand lifting as if to raise in farewell. Cora twisted in her seat, her hand pressing to the tiny window at the back of the carriage.

He waved forlornly, his figure shrinking into the distance as she was carried away from him. It pained her more than he'd ever know to leave without a word of goodbye. But she wasn't even sure if there were any words she could offer that might make him feel her absence any less.

Her fingers felt for the pink cameo broach pinned to the underside of the lapel of her traveling coat, the ridges of the ivory silhouette and the crystals that outlined the ornament felt just as coarse as her swift departure. Perhaps things would feel smoother as time and space put distance between them. But she couldn't know for certain.

"Cora, sit down." Martha interrupted her deep thoughts, her hand shoving Cora's shoulder down effectively forcing her back into her seat, "Young ladies do not gawk outside an open window," She reminded her in a clipped, automatic tone that suggested she memorized this piece of etiquette from a pamphlet or book she recently read.

Cora's hands flew to the middle of her lap, and she immediately looked down, hoping her cheeks weren't too flushed from slight embarrassment that crept over her.

"What were you looking at anyway?" Martha probed suspiciously.

Swallowing back her guilt, Cora shook her head, trying on an air of indifference, "Nothing important."

An irritated scoff and a _keep your head out of the clouds, my dear_ later, it was clear Martha bought the lie. A shiver of excitement coursed through her body at the mild thrill from disguising the truth from her mother. And Cora suddenly felt emboldened to seriously consider Harold's earlier offer.

* * *

_**Short chapter I know, but it's just the Prologue. The others will be a bit longer/more descriptive. :)**_


	2. As Happy as One Needs to be

_**A great big thank you to everyone who has shown great interest in this thus far! It means a lot, especially since this is exploring a very different and potentially AU view of their characters as they grow to understand what love really means. Anyway, I hope I keep them in character in spite of that. As always, enjoy &amp; share your thoughts if you have the time! :)**_

* * *

Robert dabbed his face with his handkerchief, wiping away the beads of sweat that were forming. In spite of it being early morning, the cramped carriage was dreadfully hot.

He relished in the cool air that Rosamund's fan stirred up with every slow flick of her wrist. He was also glad she decided to open the nearby window without seeking Mama's permission. For that would have been another battle lost on them, and Robert was sure they'd all die from heat exhaustion before arriving.

His stomach knotted again when he thought of where they were headed and why. Overton wasn't a place he ever hoped to visit again, and perhaps after today, his wish would be granted.

"Your turn brother," Rosamund snapped her fan shut suddenly, passing it to him before she massaged her overworked wrist.

"Is that entirely necessary?" Came Violet Crawley's voice from across the carriage, her steely gaze resting upon her son's unskilled attempt at opening a fan. "I feel as though I'm already in an icebox," She shivered for dramatic effect, slowly running her hands up and down her arms.

"Even beneath all of that fabric you _insist_ is _needed_?" Lord Grantham commented dryly, not bothering to look up from the book he was clearly only half absorbed in. Robert didn't have to look up from unhinging the fan to know his mother was glaring at his father in response to this remark.

Luckily, their bristle with words wouldn't build into a heated argument given the circumstances. It was ill-mannered to argue in front of one's children. Even though Robert and Rosamund were fully aware of their parents frequent spats when they were expected to spend a great deal of time together. It was one of the few reasons why family events like this were most uncomfortable.

But today's affair was different. Today added a whole other level of discomfort that only Robert felt. And spending nearly two hours in a carriage in near silence only made his mind wander towards the impending event. And with every pitch and sway of the carriage, his stomach tightened and he grew more anxious.

_"How will you...?" _

_She killed his question with her insistent reply of, "You mustn't worry about that."_

_"But I do worry about it. I've ruined..."_

_"You haven't ruined a thing." Her warm hands pressed to either side of his face. The heaviness forming behind the bridge of his nose, and the familiar stinging from tears she so easily worked up in him. He had. And even her soft intonation of, 'If anything, you've given me something,' could not soothe the guilt that seized hold of him._

"Robert!" Rosamund nudged him in the arm, and he shook away the phantom memory with a jerk of his head. His sister pointed towards the fan he unconsciously stopped waving, and he muttered a quick apology, feeling his ears burn when he noticed her studious gaze trained on his serious profile.

He resumed fanning the both of them, and Rosamund let out a satisfied sigh before leaning over to the other side of the carriage.

Robert silently wondered how long it would take for Mama to bark out her usual order of, _Rosamund, don't slouch. It's unbecoming. _But his sister broke the quiet again.

"Curious day for a wedding, isn't it?" She observed lightly, peeling back the thin curtain that covered the half opened window.

"Why do you say that?" Robert asked, lifting an inquisitive brow.

_"Marry in May and you'll rue the day_," Rosamund turned back towards him, practically singing out the phrase, her verdant eyes glimmering daringly.

Robert scoffed at this, Lord Grantham chortled similarly, and Violet shook her head.

"Really Rosamund," Violet scolded, "that's just superstitious nonsense. I'm sure the Winborne's will be very happy."

"Or as happy as they need to be," Lord Grantham corrected, and they all fell back into a stiff silence that encompassed them before.

Robert tended to agree with his father, but he didn't dare vocalize this now, knowing how it would offend his mother.

And even though she'd never admit it, he saw, on more than one occasion, the quiet disappointment that flickered across Mama's blue-green eyes when her opinions were not heard or counted. It was a look far worse than the narrowed eyed sternness he was always forced to face during one of her lectures.

"Do you know if the Spenser's are coming, Mama?" Rosamund asked suddenly, filling the tense quiet with her bubbly tone.

"Don't slouch when you speak, my dear," Violet remarked, and Robert had to bite his tongue to hold in his amusement.

The rustling of skirts filled the carriage as Rosamund reluctantly corrected her posture, shooting a perturbed look at her brother, whom allowed a snort to burst from him.

But Violet didn't seem to notice, or think this behavior worth correcting, as she answered Rosamund's question with a slight nod. "Yes. I received word from Louisa a few days ago that they're all coming. Even that..._new daughter-in-law_ of hers." There was such a deliberate emphasis on the choice words that even Robert's ears perked up with interest.

"Who is she?" Robert wondered, unaware of the fact that Frederick Spenser had even taken a wife during his respite across the pond.

"One of _those_ American girls from Newport," She replied stiffly, her mouth drawn into a slim line. Glancing between the pair of her children, Violet quipped dryly, "I daresay the Spenser's have front row seats to a cheap show on The Ways of the Wild West these days."

"I'm sure it was _anything but_ a cheap show," Lord Grantham asserted plainly. "From what I hear, those girls have amassed _far more_ than they know what to do with," He looked up at his wife, his eyes flickering over towards his son for a moment.

"How is that possible?" Robert wondered out loud. "Girls inheriting?"

"Because they have no _real_ sense of tradition, which in turn, enables them to hand over their wealth to _just_ _anyone_," His mother explained haughtily, her hand flipping to emulate a throwaway gesture. "An utter waste if you ask me."

"I quite agree," Lord Grantham resonated, shocking everyone within the carriage. He found his wife's questioning gaze, and dismissed it readily with a simple explanation. "These girls are not educated to make proper use of their fortunes. They'd sooner spend it all on frivolous tea gowns and costume jewelry..."

"Perhaps they should be educated then!" Rosamund suggested passionately, prompting their mother to warn with one of her scalding looks.

"Perhaps we should be concerned with _your education_ instead, Rosamund? Particularly courses in the art of conversation and how one should not interrupt its natural flow."

Rosamund lowered her gaze, her cheeks flushing nearly as red as her hair.

"I think Rosamund raises an interesting point," Robert interceded, shooting his sister a sideways, reassuring glance and nudging her skirt with his foot. Focusing his attention on his parents, he added, "Perhaps if these girls knew what to do with the wealth, it wouldn't seem as silly for them to inherit as well as the boys."

He noticed the corner of his sister's mouth twitch appreciatively as Lord Grantham offered his opinion on the subject.

"I doubt very much any young girl wants to learn about sums and investments. Not when her husband is more than capable of learning it for her."

"But perhaps she doesn't want a husband?" Rosamund ventured, this time her tone milder, more curious than challenging.

Robert closed his eyes, bracing himself for another painfully awkward moment. If only she just learned to censor herself in front of their parents as he had, she'd save herself a lot of unnecessary grief.

Violet threw her head back a bit and chortled, "Who _wouldn't_ want a husband? Surely not _you_?"

"No, of course I do but..." She paused, looking over to Robert as though he might have an idea of how to press this conversation forward.

He frowned apologetically, lifting his shoulders a fraction of an inch. He wished he could ease her from this social embarrassment, find a clever way out of this for her. But she was far too bold than he was clever.

So Rosamund relented quietly, as she generally did, glancing back out the window as she decided, "It was just a thought."

"A thought you should have kept to yourself," Mama muttered critically.

And with that, the tense silence encompassed the carriage for the rest of their journey to Overton.

* * *

"Julia looks absolutely divine," Rosamund gushed within the group, bringing the flute of champagne to her lips and taking a modest sip.

"Oh yes," Lady Ann Covington, the newest addition to the House of Spenser and the Crawley's subject of debate on the carriage ride to Overton, resounded Rosamund's point with favor. "A very handsome bride indeed. And she seems a lovely person to boot," She added smoothly, glancing around the group for some reassurance.

"Yes, she certainly is...lovely," Robert confirmed, his gaze drifting beyond that of Lady Covington &amp; towards the newly anointed Lady Julia Winborne.

She stood in front of one of the floor to ceiling windows, glowing in the brilliant midday sun that streamed through the room. Her raven hair, generally curled with a few long pieces tumbling down her shoulders, was now piled on top of her head in a smooth, coiled knot, leaving the back of her neck exposed each time she gracefully pivoted on the spot to receive various well wishers.

Her ivory gown with long satin sleeves, and the lace bodice adorned with golden shimmers showed off her figure in a modest fashion. And the heavy skirts, picked up with glittering gold ornaments and bows, only accentuated the considerable wealth and prominent station in society, she had come into by marrying Lord Richard Winborne.

And _he_ was quite a handsome fellow as well. Quite a brooder though with pale skin, outlined by his darker features, and a look of solemnity that appeared more frequently than that of a gracious smile. However, when Julia turned to glance up at him just now, her smile, a ray shining with lightness and adoration, there appeared to be a break in the gloominess. He placed a hand at the top of her back, and inclined his head in her direction. Eyelids drooping heavily, Lord Winborne flashed a shy, crooked smile before bringing his lips to the soft skin of her forehead.

Robert forced himself to look away. But no matter what he saw after that, the image itself was burned brightly into his mind. He finished off his drink, excused himself from the group, and resolved to find a footman.

He found a waiter and a vacated corner in the massive room near one of the fireplaces. Turning his back to those chatting amicably and casually strolling about to offer their congratulations to all the right people, Robert downed the flute of champagne as swiftly as possible.

It wasn't potent enough to abolish all memories of this day if he sipped it like a proper gentleman.

Once he polished it off, he turned back around, eyes scanning the room for another footman who would aid him in his quest to find the comforting haze that only drink provided. He didn't have to look far for his next glass however, for Lord Spenser tapped one of the staff on the shoulder, picked up a new flute for himself and nodded in Robert's direction.

Fresh drink in hand, Robert made off with half of it and then let out sharp exhalation.

"Are you alright, old fellow?" Lord Covington tilted his head to the side, his flaxen brow creasing.

"I'm fine," Robert remarked evenly, trying to keep his attentions anywhere but near the tall windows.

Frederick Covington's frown deepened, his warm, brown eyes studying Robert's overall demeanor with intrigue.

Robert knew he didn't believe his words. All those years of sharing confidences, engaging in adolescent shenanigans, and then covering one another's tracks to avoid punishment hadn't disintegrated, even as they were closer to becoming upstanding gentleman than they were the mischievous boys from their Eton days.

He knew he could trust Freddie, but some things were not suitable to be shared. Especially those things concerning a recently married woman.

Clearing his throat, Robert gestured to those milling about the room, a weak explanation forming at the forefront of his mind. "It's just...you know how these things can be. The parents all getting together, seeing which two of us they can pair off next."

Freddie chuckled in clear agreement, and Robert could relax a bit. A single truth had set him free, just not the one Freddie had inquired about.

After a contemplative moment, Freddie spoke up again, catching Robert's attention. "Well unless Lady Grantham abandons her seat with Lady Shackleton," He lifted his glass in the direction of Robert's Mama, who was animatedly discussing something with one of her old friends, "I'd say you're in the clear."

Robert hummed his amusement. From where he stood, it appeared today was about forging alliances for Rosamund, and for that he was partially grateful.

"Although Phillip's grown rather handsome since last I saw him," Freddie teased, and Robert chuckled lightly, shaking his head as he finished off another glass. "You could certainly do worse with some of _these_ girls. Heavens _where_ do they come from?"

This time an awkward rumbling stirred Robert's throat at Freddie's quip. For all the things he liked about his acquaintance, he did have a sharp tongue every now and again. And while Robert wasn't particularly sensitive, he found the man's attempt at humor to be more hurtful than amusing at times.

Still, he must have becoming desensitized as he placed another empty flute down and stole another from a traveling footman, and joined in on the cynical jab, "Is that why you sailed halfway around the world for your bride?"

Freddie laughed deeply, clapping a hand on Robert's shoulder before leaning closer, "I sailed halfway around the world to avoid soiling the Spenser name with my bad virtues."

It was true, Freddie's penchant for gambling had turned more addictive as of late. And his latest loss at the races nearly cost his father a years worth of upkeep on Covington Place.

Lifting his glass, Robert offered up in mock toast, "Well it appears you were more than successful in your rehabilitation."

He nodded and then remarked approvingly, "Very much so. Ann has quite a lot to offer." He sipped the champagne before releasing his hold on Robert and staring off to where she stood with Rosamund.

Rosamund giggled behind her hands while Ann practically threw back her head as her shrill laugh rang through the low chatter.

Freddie turned back towards Robert again and admitted, "Not to mention, she saved me from ruin."

"Do your parents approve?" Robert ventured, thinking back to Mama's earlier criticisms on the Americans from Newport.

Freddie blinked out of surprise at this question. He hesitated and then offered casually, his mouth twisting uncertainly, "I like to think they do. But then again, you know how it is."

Robert nodded. Oh yes, he knew all too well.

His gaze instinctively floated across the room, and he felt a jolt in the pit of his stomach as he found her crystalline blue eyes set on him. His lips parted as if he wanted to speak to her. To say more than just the, _I offer you both my most enthusiastic of congratulations. _But even if he did say something, she would never hear it.

Her mouth curved into a slight smile, but the cloudiness in her large eyes betrayed the happiness she tirelessly had tried to convey. His brow creased, and Robert felt that familiar heaviness behind the bridge of his nose again.

"You should consider getting yourself one," Freddie suggested wryly, patting him on the shoulder again.

The spell was broken, and he felt lighter when he turned back to his friend. "What?" Robert asked, forcing himself to recall precisely what it was they were talking about before he'd become entranced by a beautifully sad subject all on his own. "A wife?" He tried.

"An American one," Freddie corrected, champagne flute hovering close by his lips.

"Oh I don't know if I could go that far," Robert mused, feeling the champagne bubbling warmly inside of him as he took another drink. "I'm not as brave as you, I'm afraid." _But probably more reckless, _the voice inside his head taunted.

"They're not as intimidating as you might think," Freddie went on assuredly. "They're kind are far easier to charm than ours. And they get _so easily_ roused by the smallest of things." His mouth twitched into a coy grin, his eyes gleaming suggestively.

Robert felt his face redden at the insinuation, and he shook his head in slight disapproval. If he would be forced into marriage now, he wanted his future wife to be loyal to him, to their family, and above all, easy to maintain. And from what little he witnessed of Freddie's new wife thus far, she appeared to hardly harbor either of these quality that he held in such high esteem.

Freddie must have been able to read his thoughts for he added, "And they're bred well enough too. In spite of their ignorance of our social decorum, they're certainly willing and eager to learn our ways. At least...Mother tells me Ann _seems_ to be."

Robert's lips folded inward, and he chewed on the bottom one, mulling over Freddie's words. It all seemed to good to be true. A wife who could easily be molded. No, not just one _could be_, but one who _wanted_ to be. It might make the whole endeavor easier. But then something caught the corner of his eye, freeing him of any and all consideration to this prospect.

He glanced up to notice Lady Shackleton embrace Lady Grantham chastely. And then they were gliding about the room, reaching their dainty hands out to their acquaintances in greeting. Another shrill peel of laughter shot through the genial murmur, and all eyes found Lady Ann for another split second. She seemed wholly unaware to this point and completely carefree.

His gaze flew back to his mother, noticing her mouth drawn into a straightened line, her jaw clenching while she tried not to scowl in displeasure.

_What a disaster that would be_, Robert thought. Realigning his focus to Freddie, he insisted, "Still, your mother is much more forgiving than mine."

"But it's not your Mother's choice, now is it?" Freddie dared, his lips curling into a mischievous grin again.

No, it was not. Not in theory anyway. But as Robert looked back over at the beaming Winborne's receiving the highest of praises from an unusually generous Lady Grantham, he was reminded that his mother's influence weighed far more heavily than his ability to choose when it came to landing the future Countess of Grantham.


	3. Similar but Not the Same

"How much farther is it?" Martha barked over the whir and chug of the motorcar they picked up from the station that morning.

The driver tilted back his head, and assured loudly, "Not long, Ma'am! Not long at all!"

Sitting back against the leather seat, an impatient exhalation escaped Martha. And Cora watched her mother pull out the gold watch stowed in the pocket of her stiff, burgundy jacket.

_A gift from F__ather_, the voice inside her head reminded mercilessly. A ray of light danced across the golden surface, forcing Cora's watering eyes away.

She blinked several times, forcing her mind elsewhere.

It certainly wasn't easy. Everything about this trip reminded Cora of her father. He orchestrated the entire thing with Mother well before his death, and without Cora's counsel.

At first, she'd been so angry with him. Angry that he made such a monumental decision about her future without asking her opinion. Angry that after all he claimed would be her choice to make was entirely just another calculated choice for her to blindly agree to. Angry that he died before she could confront him about any of it.

Her anger boiled so hot, it painfully burned a hole into her heart. An empty place where he once was.

Shaking away such thoughts, Cora kept her focus trained on the horizon.

She watched the lush greenery fly by as the car carried them along the bumpy, dirty road. Thick rows of trees full of blossoms and fruits lined both sides of the road, and the sun poked its face through gapes in the tree branches that almost grew above them in the shape of an arch.

Occasionally there was an opening in the trees, and Cora's heart raced upon seeing a cluster of houses with farmers tilling their backyards, or an open field full of wildflowers with children bounding through tall grass.

And then they made a turn to the right, the trees thinning out on the side to reveal acres of manicured greenery, and then at the height of a long, sloping hill was what could only be Covington Place.

Her heart leapt to her throat at the sheer magnitude of the house. The white stone building that rose three stories high, and several hundred feet wide (as far as Cora could tell from this view), glistened beneath the brilliance of the springtime sun.

"Mother!" She exclaimed, whirling around in the seat, shaking Martha from her quiet reverie.

Hand flying to her chest, Martha shot her daughter a bewildered look before following her enthused insistence's to, _Look! Look Mother! H__ow splendid it is!_

Cora's eyes darted from the façade that boasted at least fifty windows, a flattened roof with domed towers shooting at several feet up into the air, flags waving magnificently against the wind. And statues of notable yet undeniable figures stood atop the balustrades that lined the entire roof on four sides.

It all looked rather grand and rich with history, more so like the subject from a painting at The Met than a real building that stood before them. _A house! _She reminded herself inwardly. The place she was to temporarily live, herself, during part of her stay in England. She could scarcely believe it in spite of it being true.

Casting another tentative glance over her shoulder, Cora saw her mother's uncharacteristically impressed expression as she took in all in.

"God in heaven," She murmured, her mouth gaping slightly and eyes widening until the whites were clearly visible.

"Isn't it wonderful?!" Cora gushed, turning back around to face the structure as they drew nearer.

"I must admit," Martha went on in a faraway voice, "it sure is _worth_ boasting."

Cora felt some satisfaction in knowing that her mother and she had finally found something to agree upon since their departure from Newport. The majority of the journey was overshadowed by disagreements over their differing ideas on just about everything. From hair, to social graces, to attributes in a husband, to considering a mother-in-law, to speaking with a specific eloquence Cora'd been trained to execute, they couldn't find a shared opinion on a single thing. That is, until now.

However, Martha was quick to amend her earlier statement, by placing a hand on top of her daughter's.

"But Cora dear," She pressed on in a quieter tone, leaning so close Cora smelled her amber rose perfume, "we mustn't be _too_ generous with our compliments." Martha's brow arched, signifying the great importance behind her point, "We don't want them to think us simple minded that we haven't seen a house as grand as this."

"But Mother," Cora smiled, "we _haven't_ seen a house as grand as this. Not even Mrs. Astor's..."

"So?" She retorted through tightly drawn lips. "_They_ don't need to know that."

Cora rolled her eyes at this, snorting at how ridiculous it all seemed that she might restrain herself from sharing her views so readily. Wasn't there a single thing she could think all on her own that could be discussed? Or were all of her opinions and ideas to be kept under the lock and key of her own mind?

It certainly seemed that way.

"I'll care to remind you how important this is," Martha drawled on solemnity. "And while I know you and Elianna have been friends for years..."

"Don't worry Mother," Cora sighed wearily, lifting her eyes out of mild irritation again, "I won't disappoint you."

Martha's lips split into a smile, her blue green eyes (that looked more green against her emerald traveling suit in the brilliant sunlight) brewing with a warmth Cora hadn't seen for days. Reaching forward, her mother lightly patted the side of her cheek before brushing one of her long hanging curls in front of her shoulder.

"I know you won't," She remarked affirmatively.

And with this reassuring gesture, Cora felt the hole in her heart swell, the anxiety in her stomach subsiding.

* * *

It was all so much to take in Cora didn't even know how she should begin. She thought of describing the empty halls with cavernous ceilings, thought about detailing the magnificent paintings that lined the walls where there weren't mirrors or tapestries hanging. Everything was inlaid in gold, white marble and bore the marks of a worn yet regal stonework that gave a historical quality to Covington Place that Cora found marveling at.

It appeared similar to their houses in New York and Newport, but far older. In her world, only antiquity equated to poverty. One was considered of great importance based on the newness of their house, their decor, their clothes. Here, even from just strolling through the atrium, into the drawing room, and then up the stairs to her borrowed dressing room, she felt the opposite effect. And she learned, she didn't really mind it.

She considered writing about all of that, but then Cora realized _he_ probably already heard about it, and Harold would find mild interest, if any, in such observations. So she resolved to keep it as simple as she could.

_After seven days at sea, w__e arrived safely at Covington Place. __Mother fell ill the first few days. __I'm sure you can imagine how that only added to the delights of the journey__. __Thankfully, she regained her sea legs after three days' time, and was far more manageable._

She paused, thinking of how to word the next part of the passage detailing Covington Place itself, and their hostess.

_The estate itself is so grand! Harold, you could fit Levinson Manor in it several times over! I can't believe Ann actually gets to live here! It feels more like a museum than a home! She's lovely, by the way. Married life seems to agree with her as far as I can tell. Perhaps I'll be just as lucky, and won't end up with a __dud like you seem to think I will. Speaking of, I've had the journey to consider your proposition. _

_I'd like to take you up on the offer, under the pretense that I have your absolute and infinite word that you won't read the insert. I'd hate for Mother to find out about the most recent incident including you and __Mrs. Wilton's youngest daughter, but I believe the details are still fresh enough in my mind that I wouldn't hesitate from casually bringing it up during one of the day's respites. As it appears Mother and I are to spend a great deal of time waiting together for various activities to begin, she'll expect some sort of meaningful conversation from me. I'll be more willing to get creative with my topics if you agree to my terms. _

_Even so, I am grateful to you from sparing me some frustration and sadness in facilitating such an exchange. And I will repay you in kind with my silence on such ill matters you'd rather keep out of sight from Mother. Treat t__he Browns well, and don't burn the house down in our absence as you know how much that would displease Mother. I must say s__he seems well adjusted given everything, which is somewhat surprising. But I daresay she believes she's doing all of this to fulfill Father's wishes. _

_Anyway, I won't bore you with my musings. Just know that we __miss you, send our love, and I will offer my usual piece of advice for you to not do anything stupid. (Although I doubt you'll listen much to it.)_

_Your Most Affectionate Sister,_

_Cora Levinson_

She carefully placed the completed letter off to the side, wholly satisfied with it. But when confronted with the blank sheet that sat beneath it, she was at a loss for what to say. Her mind felt as blank as the paper, her fingers twirling the pen lazily while she contemplated a jumping off point. After all, it had been nearly a month now since they had a true moment alone.

Perhaps she should explain the situation.

_You might be surprised to find, Harold, of all people, delivering a letter to __you at my bequest. First, I want to assure you, all is well. Mother &amp; I have arrived safely at Covington Place. It is quite splendid. But I'm sure you already knew that, __s__o I won't bore you with my own founding's. Secondly, I hope you do not find this letter an unwelcome sight. If you do not, I wish for you to know that I __write to you with the sinceres__t of intentions that we might continue __our friendship (a__s I do feel as though we were robbed of a proper goodbye in my final days at Newport). Should you share in this wish, feel free to place your trust in Harold as I have to deliver me a reply. I have not yet told... _

"Knock, knock!" Came a playful tone accompanied by three quick knocks from the other side of the door.

Cora's heart stalled momentarily, and she tensed for a split second. "Just a moment!" She called back, hands maneuvering the papers around to conceal the half written letter.

"Don't worry," The response rang out in continuous melody, this time the clicking of the door opening and closing swiftly playing along with it, "it's only _me_." Elianna Adelberg, or recently fashioned Lady Ann Covington, confessed, prompting Cora to look up from her seat at the desk. She found her friend from all those years ago slowly approaching, her dark brown eyes gleaming with mischief as she held two tiny glasses in both hands.

"I figured now was the best time for a _proper _reunion now that _the mothers _have gone to lie down," She continued in her drawling, animated tone. "Unless of course..." She casually glanced over Cora's shoulder while she set the glasses down on the desk between them, eyes sweeping over the papers, "...you're far too busy..."

"Not at all," Cora replied quickly, placing a hand atop the letter, and pressing down to stand from the chair.

And then without warning, in typically, free spirited Adelberg fashion, she watched Ann hike up her many skirts, and pull out a silver flask out from the depths. "What's that?" Cora blinked, her eyes widening in question.

"The most refreshing whiskey you'll ever taste as far as I'm concerned!" Ann exclaimed with a flourish, pouring out a tiny amount of the amber liquid into the smaller glasses.

"Ann!" Cora chastised, seizing hold of her arm, the edges of her next words tinged with a ripple of amusement, "Is that allowed?"

"It's practically encouraged!" Her friend assured, flipping her hand with indifference. Raising both glasses, and handing one over to Cora she added with a knowing wink, "In moderation, of course."

Cora watched her friend down the drink in a single sip, grimacing slightly and smacking her lips in response. She cautiously sniffed the drink, only to feel the hair on the back of her neck stand on end.

"It smells terrible," She frowned, casting Ann perturbed look.

But Ann didn't take offense to her look of disagreement; instead she plopped down on the center of Cora's bed, the lilac skirts of her day dress bunching up and around her as her legs crossed in front of her.

"Better get used to it, my little maiden," Ann chided lightly, using the nickname from their childhood. "That's all these little gentlemen drink over her."

Cora took the dare, tilting the glass ever so slightly until the whiskey burnt her taste buds. She spit it out into the glass, coughing from the severity of it. "Well...they can keep it for themselves...its dreadful..." Scowling in disgust, she set her glass down beside Ann's, and moved to join her on the bed.

"Well they'll still try to share with you," Ann told her with a shrug, smoothing out the creases in her dress. When Cora shot her a quizzical look, she explained, "You can taste it on their lips."

Cora smirked in understanding. Of course, Ann would say something like that. She was never shy about such things, even before she married Lord Frederick Covington.

Crawling towards the middle of the bed, Cora plopped down on her back, letting out a heavy, contented sigh.

The bed was soft as a cloud. She felt as though the mattress could swallow her up, and she wouldn't even care. Aside from Ann's presence, it was by far the most welcoming thing she experienced since arriving at Covington.

As lovely as the place appeared to be, the lady of the house was less than so. With her clipped comments in regards to the stark differences between the Americans and the English, she cast a judgmental eye in her daughter-in-law direction more than once when Ann interrupted the natural flow of conversation or let out an overly zealous peal of laughter when the conversation didn't dictate such a response.

Cora wondered how Ann didn't recognize the obvious glow of disapproval that radiated from Lady Spenser's sharp emerald eyes. For if that women were her mother-in-law, Cora was certain she'd feel more uneasy than carefree in her presence than Ann obviously did.

Ann must have read her thoughts, for she leaned over, and placed her head beside Cora's on the pillow. "I'm so grateful to finally have an ally again," She admitted, her daring countenance fading into a more melancholic one.

Cora turned her face towards Ann's and wondered, "What do you mean?"

"It's terribly lonely here, you see," Ann let out a restless breath. "They all _despise_ me."

Rolling over onto her side, Cora's hands folded beneath her cheek. "Surely not _all_ of them," She argued mildly. "What of your husband?" She tried hopefully.

When Ann lowered her gaze and merely shrugged, Cora reached out to her, brushing a stray strand of golden brown hair from in front of her eyes. "He seemed so happy with you at the wedding though. We were all joking about how the two of you would surely die if you took your eyes off one another for only just a moment," She recalled softly, inspiring a half hearted chuckle from her friend.

"Oh Freddie's fond of me, for sure," Ann agreed, rolling onto her back, and folding her hands across her middle. She stared up at the ceiling for a moment, her lips fused together in concentration. Her gaze flickered around the room as though searching for something just out of her periphery before she told Cora rather dully, "But he's also a mummy's boy, who listens to everything she says. He doesn't care for a second whether or not, I approve or agree. So long as Mama does...nothing else seems to matter to him, really."

"Oh dear," Cora sighed sympathetically, patting Ann's arm.

Ann shrugged her face mostly expressionless, "It's not all bad." There was a pause before she glanced over at Cora, her eyes alight with the same mischief that Cora saw when she entered with the glasses for whiskey moments ago. Wiggling her brow, she informed her, "I have my freedom. Most days, I can do as I please. Until duty calls. It's certainly more than I would have had if I stayed in New York and married a _nice, Jewish boy from a respectable family_." She nudged Cora's foot with her own, her mouth parted as though she was on the verge of saying more on this subject.

"Speaking of nice...and Jewish...and from a respectable family," She chimed in wryly, propping herself up on her arm, "how is my dear brother?"

Cora merely scoffed at this, rolling off to the side, and moving to sit up. She suddenly felt hot, the close proximities of their bodies in their heavy dresses, triggering her need for that drink.

"Cora!" Ann grabbed her arm, pulling her back down onto the bed.

"What?" Cora giggled lightly, peering up at Ann's intense stare chalk full of curiosity.

"You can tell _me_," Ann pinned down her shoulders, shaking them insistently.

_So you can tell everyone else, _Cora thought rhetorically.

Flipping over onto her stomach, perched on her elbows, Cora shook her head, trying to disguise the smile that was already twitching at her lips. "There's nothing to tell, Ann." Her feet reached for the floor, and she pushed herself up off of the bed. "Honest, David and I haven't spoken in..." She reached for one of the bedposts, swinging around it as she retraced her steps back toward the desk, "...well since your wedding."

It wasn't entirely a lie. Intent was a different thing than action altogether. She intended to write to him, she hadn't. And even if she went that far, who was to say he'd even write back? It had been nearly a month now, and she really couldn't blame him if he decided to never speak to her again.

Perhaps she'd eventually tell Ann. If it necessity warranted it, or there might be an added benefit to the cause. Otherwise, Cora saw little point in involving Ann in something that might end before it could even begin. She was barely at ease disclosing all of this to Harold as it was.

Once she arrived at the desk, Cora's fingers brushed along the pages of the half completed letter, the other hand reaching for her half full glass of whiskey. She swirled the contents around in the glass, she raised it and took a long sip. Instantly, she fought back the urge to be sick, practically choking down the pungent taste that burned wickedly down her throat and made her stomach automatically contort.

"Goodness Ann!" She blanched, looking down at her empty glass in disbelief once her stomach felt settled, "How can they even stomach this stuff?"

Ann giggled lightly, lifting her shoulders and remarking plainly, "They're used to it, I suppose." Rising from the bed, she skirted back across the room, and poured herself another glass.

"You'll soon see, my little maiden," She went on lightly, replenishing Cora's glass in spite of her silent protests. "They pride themselves on duty and tradition above all else," Ann explained, flecks of annoyance evident in her tone. "Even if it costs them dearly, they'd rather suffer through it than admit defeat."

She raised her glass to her lips, and threw back her head while Cora considered Ann's assessment of the English.

How could she know so much after only being married to Lord Covington in such a short span of time? Were things really that terrible for her here? She practically lived in a palace. What wasn't there to be hopelessly happy and in love with, strained familial relations aside? Her husband was fond of her, which must have been some sort of added bonus. Surrounded by a beautiful landscape, classic works of art, and rooms filled with artifacts attached to stories from spanned hundreds of years prior to their own nation's birth.

Cora's eyes discretely flickered back to the unfinished letter on the desk. Based on Ann's description alone, she silently wondered if she was all that different from the English peers in these regards, she too found fascinating. And before she could stop herself, she tossed back another glass of whiskey, only sputtering ever so slightly as it went down this time.

* * *

**_So, what do you all think? I did revise this a bit from the original post, so there is some added dialogue. Particularly the bit about who Ann is to Cora, how David fits into all of this, and all of that good stuff! Also I thought it worth mentioning that I was trying to give Cora some kind of nickname (because, I kind of have this weird obsession with nicknames), and so I decided to look up what the name 'Cora' actually means, 'maiden.' Hence the birth of Ann's_** my little maiden _**comment**_. **_And I figured given that Ann is kind of precocious that it also had kind of a double entendre feel to it as well? I dunno, it made more sense in my head lol._**


	4. What is Needed

The gentle scraping of cutlery against breakfast china paired with the occasional slurping of morning tea and the rustling of Papa's morning paper, descended upon the otherwise silent dining room.

Breakfast was generally a quiet or more solemn affair than any other familial gathering of the day. Papa would read his daily paper, Robert would be left alone to his thoughts, and Rosamund would busy herself with reading whatever correspondences came her way.

Sometimes they engaged in conversation. But it was mostly polite talk; remarks about the weather, intriguing articles Papa came across in his paper that weren't too shocking, or discussing whatever impending event Mama arranged for them to attend.

This morning in particular, the usual flow of breakfast was altered with Mama's sudden appearance.

Feeling the hair on the back of his neck stand alert, Robert's head snapped up, and he remarked casually, "We don't normally see you at breakfast, Mama."

"Rosamund and I have our final dress fittings in Ripon," She explained breezily, gathering a plate of food before settling in an empty chair at the other head of the table. Flipping out her serviette,

Mama sank gracefully down in her chair, continuing in her usually smooth tone, "And I thought it wise to have an early start."

"Why you thought it necessary to buy all new frocks for this season is beyond me," Lord Grantham grumbled suddenly, snapping his newspaper rather irritably.

"Seasons change, Papa. Particularly in fashion," Rosamund informed him sweetly, tilting her head to the side and offering one of her usual dazzling smiles that always seemed to charm their father.

"Yes," Mama resounded rather incredulously, briefly lifting her eyes towards her husband, challenging him with her inquiry of, "and don't you want your _only_ daughter to look _respectable_ among all those new debutantes?"

Robert cast a wary glance back over at his father as he took a bite of his toast. The volleying match had started early between them.

His Papa practically glowered over the top of his paper, jaw clenching tightly. "Of course I do," He insisted evenly. Carefully folding the newspaper shut, he spoke as evenly as possible while barely moving his lips, trying not to betray the displeasure that burned through his words. "My only concern is if Rosamund flounces about in all new dresses, she'll outshine all the newcomers."

Rosamund took it as a compliment; her charmed smile deepening and her hand reaching across the table to affectionately pat her father's.

"And what's so wrong with that?" Mama wondered, her knife hanging in midair while she momentarily stopped buttering her toast, to direct her attention down the length of the table once more.

But Lord Grantham didn't seem to hear her. Or if he did, he ignored his wife's question.

Squeezing his daughter's hand in response, he instructed, "Be mindful of vanity, my dear. It isn't a trait most men find agreeable in a woman."

Rosamund, whose mouth contorted in disagreement, held her tongue and inclined her head contemplatively at her Papa's words.

It wasn't common for their father to pay such compliments or speak with great affection to either one of them. So they blindly welcomed such attention when he deemed it necessary to display, whether or not it felt genuine or forced.

"Just because _you_ don't find it agreeable_,_doesn't mean _all men_ share in that opinion." Mama argued lightly, the coarse scraping of her knife running over the bread.

Bowing his head, Papa let out a tense exhalation. "Very well," His head shot up again, eyes briefly meeting his wife's before fixing onto Robert. "What do you have to say, Robert? Do you think a vain woman makes a good wife?"

He instantly felt three sets of eyes train on him. Forcing down the eggs that suddenly felt dry in the back of his throat, Robert began unsteadily, "Well I…"

"Oh how would he even know?" Mama huffed, the clamor of her silverware striking the table prompting both of her children to jump and then tense in anticipation.

There was a deliberate pause where no one moved. This would proceed one of two ways, and Robert looked up over at his sister behind heavy lids. She was sitting back in her chair, the hand that covered Papa's earlier, currently resting safely in her lap.

"After _two_ seasons, he should have _some_ idea as to what he likes or dislikes in women," Papa dictated plainly, not waiting before he gave his brief instruction with a nod. "Go on, son. Tell us, what _you_ think."

His focus flittered between both of his parents before he deliberately set the cutlery down at the edges of his plate, trying to buy himself some more time. He briefly thought about the various ladies he'd grown acquainted with over the years, his mind fixating on one in particular.

_Her dark hair cascaded wildly down her bare shoulders, the cream color of her skin disappearing__beneath the__wiry curls that bounced with each snap__of the brush__and turn of her head__while she angled her round face in the mirror.__She examined herself from different perspectives for a few moments,__carefully powdering the tiny bridge of her nose__and then rubbing a thin coat of rouge__ tint __onto her thin lips. Her pale blue eyes found his in the reflective glass and a wry smile tugged at her lips._

_"Enjoying the view?" She teased so throatily he nearly blushed from his vantage point beneath the rustled sheets._

_"It's fair enough," He quipped back, inciting a dramatic gasp from her that incited a slight rumble in the back of his throat. "I can think of one better," He remarked coyly, patting the empty space beside him._

She traded in vanity for companionship. He never gave it much thought then. But somehow the conversation at breakfast sent his mind there now.

Shaking away the memory and pushing down the heat that erupted across his cheeks, Robert's eyes landed on his father while he decided, "So long as it does not inflate ones pride, I suppose a little vanity isn't something to be troubled over in a wife."

Papa's smirk disappeared, and Robert looked down at his plate, adding out of consideration, "After all, I would like her to be _somewhat_ attractive."

Keeping his face tilted forward, he looked across the table at Rosamund, who was mirroring his posture only her eyes were trained on Papa's deflated expression.

"Well…" Lord Grantham took a slow sip of tea before replying in his usual stiff tone of voice, "...I should hope beauty isn't _the only_ quality you're looking for in a wife. After all, you might miss a better opportunity if you don't glimpse beneath the surface. And looks fade with time, you know."

Robert looked up, finding his father reopening his newspaper, clearly disappointed in the turn of this conversation.

"Except in Mama's case," Rosamund piped up cheerily, grinning back over her shoulder where Mama sat.

The color slightly drained from Violet's face as she chewed a forkful of eggs through tightly pursed lips, her gaze lowered to the height of the table. She didn't seek out the compliment; her daughter felt was owing to her. And for good reason.

Robert's heart pounded hard inside his chest, and he frowned, hoping he wouldn't feel the wave of secondhand embarrassment for Mama should Rosamund's words go unnoticed.

A pair of light eyes shifted above the top line of the paper, and Lord Grantham cast his wife a courtesy glance. "I suppose your mother_is_ an exception," Was all he could bring himself to say.

A flicker of a smile touched their mother's lips and then she was teasing mercilessly, "Oh careful with your flattery, dear. I know you don't like a vain wife."

Luckily for everyone, Carson, one of the footman strolled into the dining hall, lowering a plate full of letters to Lord Grantham's height. "The post's just arrived Milord," He informed lowly.

"Thank you, Palmer," He nodded gratefully.

Violet corrected with a tireless sigh, "That's Carson, dear."

"Isn't that what I called him?" Papa argued mildly, frowning up at the young man's departing figure.

Shrugging it off, he began shifting through the letters. Tossing one in Robert's direction, he nodded to the other end of the table and instructed, "Pass that to your mother."

"And we also have something for the Lady Rosamund," He slid another piece of mail in the direction of his daughter before the keeping the rest to himself.

The sounds of paper tearing soon filled the room while the other three members of the Crawley became absorbed in whatever bit of news they just received.

Rosamund was the first to break the silence with a strangled squeal of excitement, "I've been invited to luncheon next Thursday!"

"Wh-what?" Their Mama questioned, stunned by this shrill revelation. "By whom?"

"Lady Ann Covington," Rosamund revealed proudly, but Robert saw her bite down on her bottom lip, trying to mask her true feelings on the matter.

"Oh goodness," Mama rolled her eyes, not bothering to mask her ill opinions. "_That_ girl. I wonder what she intends to make of such an occasion. It's highly irregular for _her_ to invite _you_, instead of her _mother-in-law_. You are aware of this, no? "

"Freddie said she was still learning how things work here," Robert defended lightly, remembering their conversation from the Winborne Wedding.

"Clearly," Mama resounded, keeping her lips fused tightly together.

"Her Mama will be out that afternoon," Rosamund read out loud, not letting Mama's displeasure sink her elation at such an invitation. "And she's also invited Felicity Warrick and Ada Merton as well."

"Of course she knows _those_ girls," Mama shook her head, eyes widening as she feigned shock.

"What's so wrong with Felicity and Ada?" Rosamund shot back, insisting, "They're perfectly nice to me."

"Niceness has nothing to do with it. Those two are the picture of social demise and corruption. It's no wonder they're friends with one of those Americans."

"Oh, and there's a Miss. Cora Levinson that's been invited as well."

"Levinson?" Robert intoned curiously, shooting a perplexed look towards his mother, "We don't know them, do we Mama?"

"No," She confirmed firmly, refocusing her questioning gaze on Rosamund, "Does she make mention of who this Miss. Levinson is exactly? Rosamund?"

"Apparently..." Rosamund paused, tentatively glancing up at Robert, biting on bottom lip to stifle the grin of satisfaction he could tell was about to spread. Indulging in Mama's curiosity, Rosamund finished the thought sardonically, "...she's another one of those Americans you're _so_ _fond_ _of_, Mama."

Violet scoffed, "Well you most certainly aren't going then!"

"Oh, but Mama..." Rosamund whined.

"No," Mama went on firmly, "I will _not allow_ you to be associated with _those_ sorts. The Crawley name has been tilting on the precipice of scandal for the last year. We don't need _your cavorting _to be the reason we fall this time."

Robert felt Mama's eyes sweep over his downcast expression, his ears burning as a result of her pointed look. Thankfully, she wasn't one to dwell on past events that didn't reflect one in a good light for very long. And her chief concern this year appeared to be settling Rosamund more than anything concerning him. A reality he was nothing but grateful for.

"Now, if the one of the Winborne girls were going or Lady Spenser's daughter then I might feel differently…"

"Oh I'm sure Charlotte will be there, Mama!" Rosamund interrupted, unable to contain herself.

She was determined to go that much was for certain. And she continued to plead her case, this time with a more reserved and rational sounding enthusiasm than her brief outburst which earned a sharp glance from Mama.

"It is at their home in Eaton Square, after all. And Ann appears to be fond of her new sister-in-law. Besides, Charlotte's being presented this year, I doubt very much Ann would exclude her from meeting the rest of us."

"Even so, I don't know if I like the idea," Mama remarked primly.

"But isn't Lady Spenser a dear friend of yours, Mama?" Rosamund mused, tilting her head to the side, "Wouldn't it be in bad taste if I refused an invitation from the House of Spenser? Even if it was from Lady Ann, it's still on behalf of their family, is it not?"

Robert watched his mother's internal struggle. She inhaled a terse breath, staring icily at Rosamund before glancing down at her plate. If there was one thing Robert knew she detested, it was being beaten at her own game. And the realization that defeat was a possibility was slowly dawning on her.

Grappling for a second opinion, Mama shot her attention down the length of the dining table, barking in clipped tones, "George."

But Lord Grantham looked just as equally troubled by the letter he was intently reading to have heard her.

"George, have you been listening to _any_ of this madness?!" She smacked a hand on top of the table, rattling the china, and forcing her husband to find her vexed expression burning into him.

Shaking his head, Papa blinked back at her, clearly perplexed whenever he asked, "I'm sorry Violet, what?"

The authoritative edge in his voice was lost entirely, and a notable shift in the air around his father's demeanor made Robert shiver slightly.

However, Mama didn't allow this change to let her argument lose steam. If anything, it only emboldened her to persuade her husband to join her side, "Rosamund's been invited to a rather _questionable_ luncheon hosted by one of _those_ _Newport girls_."

Lord Grantham blinked again, still trying to catch up on what this lively debate was all about. "Oh? Who...?"

"Freddie Spenser's new wife," Violet finished for him. "Apparently she's hosting a whole gaggle of girls from the West this season, and they're trying to recruit Rosamund into their fold," She continued explaining, the pitch of her words rising to shrill octaves. "I was just telling _your _daughter that I didn't like the idea of her going."

"Oh Papa, tell her I can go," Rosamund reached for her father's arm, not bothering to disguise the desperation in her voice. "Tell her there's nothing wrong about it."

Letting out a heavy sigh, George Crawley shrugged, pushing back his chair to stand. "Whatever you say, my dear." Brow creasing, he moved to take his leave, explaining weakly, "I-I'm afraid I received some news. Robert," He nodded in his son's direction, "I need you to meet me in the library once you've finished."

"Is everything alright, Papa?" Concerned instantly washed through him.

His father was unusually pale; his hands holding the papers were practically trembling. He couldn't recall an instance when he ever saw him so shaken. Not even after an intense row with Mama.

"What sort of news is it?" Rosamund echoed Robert's concern, sitting higher in her seat.

Violet then chimed in, "Is it more important than this…?"

"It's nothing to worry the two of you with," His Papa insisted flatly. Managing to contort his mouth into a halfhearted smile he added, "Enjoy your dress shopping," before taking his leave.

And with Lord Grantham's curious departure, the remainder of breakfast carried out as it usually did: silent and solemn.

* * *

Robert's stomach tightened painfully when he left to meet his father in the library. By the time Carson announced his arrival, he found his Papa bent over his desk, palms fused to his forehead.

He didn't move to turn around, but instead exhaled raggedly, sitting back in his chair.

This reaction did nothing to quell the nerves already bouncing around in Robert's stomach. What had him so rattled this morning at breakfast? Did it have anything to do with him or his behavior the last year?

He shuddered to think of it. The last thing he wished to do was bring shame upon the Crawley name.

"Papa, what did you wish to speak with me about?" He ventured, cautiously drawing closer to his father's back.

"I received word from Murray," Lord Grantham remarked plainly.

Once Robert reached the side of the desk, he noticed his father's fingers lightly tracing along the edges of a glass half filled with scotch. His stomach somersaulted, mouth suddenly growing dry.

"It seems that..." Lord Grantham drew in an unsteady breath, "well, it would appear…we've run into another…setback." His father practically grimaced at the particular word that seemed to haunt them these last few years.

Robert looked down, feeling a mixture of relief and dread. The lightness in his stomach stemmed from the realization that this meeting had nothing to do with him. But the heaviness that ran across his shoulders suggested things were about to get harder for all of them.

"What kind of setback?" He probed, hoping it wasn't as dire as all the signs seemed to indicate.

Perhaps his father was roweled up from an earlier argument with Mama that Robert was unaware of, and this news wasn't as terrible as he led him to believe. But four words confirmed Robert's worst suspicions.

"Of a financial nature," Lord Grantham remarked quietly, bringing the glass to his mouth and taking a long sip.

Robert leaned into the desk, his hand pressing down firmly whenever he wondered, "How bad is it this time?"

"Very bad, I'm afraid," He looked to Robert and then back down to the letter bearing the news, "Murray seems to think if we continue at the rate we always have, and conditions don't improve with the tenants…we'll have to….sell…by the end of the year at the latest."

Robert's heart skipped a beat, and he suddenly grew unnaturally warm. "Sell Downton?" He resounded in disbelief, unable to fully comprehend the magnitude of what that meant.

Lord Grantham nodded, "And then some."

Sweat began to form at Robert's temples. His mind raced just as swiftly as his heart. _Where would they go? What would they do? _They weren't a working family. None of them had a skill or trade beyond the care of this estate. Everything suddenly felt uncertain; the ground was unsteady, the room spinning. And Robert felt the desperate need for a drink.

"Surely…there must be something? What…what does Murray propose we do?" Robert tried to form a coherent thought, but his mind was whirring with outlandish possibilities that were just out of his grasp. He was still relatively new to it all, and such propositions and schemes didn't come as easily as him as they should.

Drumming his fingers along the desk, Lord Grantham informed him, "I'm meeting with him when we're in London next week to discuss some new investment. Although, I don't know if we'll have many options given we're already in the red."

"Goodness Papa," Robert sighed, bending forward until his elbows rested on the top of the desk, burrowing his face into the folds of his arms.

"The problem is…" He could hear his father explaining, "…your grandfather never left me with much to build off of. If only there was an inheritance coming our way or something of that sort. I'm sure I could put us back on track if only I had additional resources."

Robert stood up straighter, seeing his father's confidence clearly rattled.

Swirling the contents around in his glass, Papa offered dejectedly, "I suppose there's always Rosamund's dowry."

"Papa," Robert insisted with a shake of his head, "you cannot do that to her. Not _again_. She'll never marry."

Lord Grantham bobbed his head out of understanding, a flicker of guilt crossing his visage. Neither one of them said anything for several moments.

Finally his father let out another strangled breath, "I just…I don't know what else there is for us to do." He cast a wary gaze up at Robert, telling him vehemently, "But…I know I _cannot_ sell Downton. It's all your mother has, aside from you and Rosamund, of course."

"And you," Robert reminded him, frowning at his father's deliberate exclusion of himself.

He didn't appear to hear this though as he weighed out their potential options out loud, "I could invest again. But that's always a gamble. And for the farmer's to turn a profit…well there are too many factors and not enough time." He took another sip of scotch, grumbling under his breath, "Those damn builders. They took everything. And for what?"

Shaking his head, he stood from his chair, and paced back to the drink cart to pour himself another. Robert stood by the desk, only the sound of liquid pouring filling the tense air between them.

His father had a habit of trusting the wrong people it seemed. They were sold on grand plans to build up the village, but instead of delivering the requested services, the foreman took off without a trace, his pockets considerably heavier from the money they fronted for materials. Before that incident it was a railroad investment they barely got out of before it turned south, taking their money down with it.

And it certainly didn't help that the farming had been anything but fruitful these last few years. And with that, the tenants' rents were delayed or placed on hold, ultimately forcing the house to utilize its own savings to pay staff wages and the general upkeep of the estate in addition to the family's own expenses.

He wondered if _this_ was why Papa seemed so cross about the mention of new dresses over breakfast. He had to have known this would have happened one day. Especially if it was as he said, and the bounty not as plentiful upon his own inheritance from his father all those years ago. Perhaps Papa knew it was only a matter of time until all the spending caught up to them. Or perhaps he thought tenant farming would prove to be more prosperous than it had in recent years?

Whatever the case, the fact of the matter was, they were to lose Downton unless something could be done to save it. And given his limited expertise in this area, Robert felt just as lost as his father appeared.

If only they had an elderly relative somewhere, well off, and one foot in the ground. It sounded insensitive, and Robert inwardly rebuked himself for even allowing the thought to cross his mind. And then, it occurred to him. In a way he couldn't quite explain, his mind trailed off to a conversation that took place a few weeks ago.

_She saved me from ruin._

"Papa," Robert pushed off from the desk, the idea striking like a match inside of his head.

His father slowly turned to face him, drinking glass poised in midair.

"I just remembered," Robert announced, trying not to let this newfound idea overtake his excitement, "Freddie mentioned something curious at the Winborne Wedding." He felt his heart beating quickly beneath his ribs.

"About?" Lord Grantham lifted a bushy, greying brow, his interest peaked.

"He said Lady Ann had quite a lot to offer him," Robert relayed. "And then he also mentioned that she saved him from potential ruin."

Just as quickly as Papa's brow had risen, it fell and he frowned, "Yes but…?"

"And didn't you say most of _those_ girls have so much wealth they don't even know what to do with it all?" Robert drove his point home further, "Perhaps we could give them something to invest in…?"

"Robert," His father stared at him incredulously, slowly shaking his head, "your Mother would _kill_ me if I gave my consent to this."

"And you don't think she would kill you anyway, if Downton was lost and we had the potential to save it?" He argued lightly, playing into another one of his father's weaknesses he only just discovered moments ago. "Papa, unless you want her finding out…"

"Robert," He interrupted again, his tone solemn. "I don't think you understand the gravity of your proposal. You'd have to marry one of those girls. Is _that_…what you _want_?"

There was doubt in his father's voice, but a slight curve to his mouth. Robert couldn't tell if his Papa was merely testing the validity behind his words or if he was practically gawking in proud astonishment that his son could even conceive an idea like this, and answer all of their problems in such a way.

Even so, his answer to his Papa's question was plain and simple. He learned the hard truth over the last year.

"It's not about _what I want_. But _what I need_, should the Crawley's wish to carry on at Downton."

Clapping a hand on his shoulder, Papa nodded, his mouth splaying into a proud grin. This single gesture meant more to them than any words he could convey to his son.

"Well then," He drew his arm around both Robert's shoulder, everything seeming lighter now, "perhaps I ought to tell Rosamund she can go to the Spenser luncheon after all."

Robert snorted and rolled his eyes, "I'm sure she'll be delighted." Then it dawned upon him and he leaned back, looking to his father for continued reassurance, "But Mama…"

Squeezing his son's shoulder again, Lord Grantham released it and raised his glass, "Leave your Mama to me." He took a sip as though it might balance him through the impending turmoil. Pointing a finger in Robert's direction he added in an almost mocking tone of voice, "You just focus on charming _one of those Newport girls_."

He hated to chuckle in amusement to further the betrayal to his mother. But Robert soon reminded himself, it was all in the name of saving Downton.

* * *

_**Alright so, this ended up being much longer than I intended, but I figured since I won't be able to update until some time next week...you might not mind. This chapter was a bit challenging, and I hope that I stayed relatively true to their characters. And yes, I deviated from the collective fandom belief that Patrick was Lord Grantham's name. Sorry if you don't like that, but I got it into my head that perhaps Mary named George after her grandfather? And I quite liked that. Anyway, I'd like to know what you all think. Am I being too deliberate/obvious? (I mean we all know how this ends, so I dunno that it really matters hah.) Thanks to everyone for all the support thus far, one day I will be able to offer you more than just fanfiction updates (perhaps cookies? brownies? ;))**_


	5. The Things She Remembers & Holds Dear

_Dearest Cora,_

_I hope this letter reaches you before you take your leave for London. I believe Ann mentioned you'd be arriving at Rosendale Manor on the twenty-first of May. My only hope is Harold followed my instructions to send this out the minute I gave it to him, and that I am not too late in sending this._

_I suppose just from my hasty introduction, you are now able to discern that your letter was indeed, a most welcome sight in my eyes. It would give me nothing but great pleasure to continue our friendship for as long as you feel appropriate. But only for as long as you see fit, Cora. You must be firm with me on that matter. Because we both know that I cannot be strong enough for the both of us to stay away (not as you can), so I place my entire trust in your judgment._

_To remark on your point, it is a shame we never had a proper goodbye on that day. But I will always cherish the time we spent among the plum trees the month before. Do you remember it? We were playing badminton at the Wilton's and Peter, in his usual little brotherly fashion, had to push in and show off. Thank goodness he did send the shuttlecock deep into the trees, however. Otherwise we wouldn't even have that moment to cherish. And cherish it I do, even still._

_I hope you didn't think I was disrespectful then. It's just, I felt compelled to tell you (and show you) just how much you meant to me. I hope you didn't view it as a blemish upon your honor. For I'd never forgive myself if I spoiled any bit of you or ruined your chances of future happiness. So please, tell me if you never wish to speak of it again and I'll keep it tucked away safely, in the depths of my heart, as far away from my lips as my anatomy will allow._

_In other news, I hope all is well with you and with Mrs. Levinson thus far. It must be quite a shock for you both, leaving so abruptly to spend several months abroad after such a horrible twist of fate. But I know, in my heart, that if there's anyone in this world who can face such challenges and difficulties, it is you. You are the bravest girl I know of, Cora Levinson. And it's not always an easy attribute to possess and yield so readily. Yet you make it look effortless._

_I have no doubt, you'll far surpass any expectations your mother and father have put in place for you, and charm the socks off of every man who lays his eyes on you. I know you charmed mine from me many years ago. But I do not mind in the least bit since summer's here now, and the added layer does nothing but make one's feet uncomfortably hot._

_How's the weather in England? Ann tells me it's much more temperate and manageable than what we experience here. And how is Lady Spenser treating you? Hopefully well. I know Ann's struggling to make a favorable impression on her. But I suppose all will get better in time. Do you have many events scheduled throughout the season? I suppose Ann &amp; Lady Spenser have arranged it all for you and your mother, no? I bet you'll enjoy the many balls and dinners they have to offer. You'll have to tell me what you think of the food, and anything else you believe to be fitting for our correspondences. Ann writes about things every now and again, but mostly to Mother. I should like to know more of London and see it through your eyes. That is, if you'll allow it, or can find the time to recreate the many scenes for me._

_Speaking of creating things, have you had any time to paint at all? I suppose not. Even so, London has many galleries, or so I'm told, and I'm sure you'll relish in seeing them all._

_And about not telling Ann, I think you're right not to. I love my darling sister, but secret keeping isn't her strong suit. I must admit I was reluctant to even place trust in Harold on a matter like this. But I suppose he's far enough away from your Mother now that he can be trusted not to put it all in writing._

_Please write if you have the time. I'd so look forward to any news you deem worthy enough to share with me._

_Safe travels to London &amp; know you are not as far from my thoughts as you are far away from home._

_With Deepest Affection,_

_Mr. David Adelberg_

Cora winced suddenly as the brush snagged a knotted patch of hair, garnering the attention of her maid, Lucy. "Sorry, miss," She murmured quietly, teeth clenching while she tried to work through the knot without pulling her mistress' hair anymore than she already had.

"No need to apologize, Luce," Cora told the young woman, forcing a small smile in spite of the pain, and confiding quietly. "You do better with it than, Flossy, that's for sure."

She noticed her maid's lips curl into a shy, half grin at the compliment before Cora glanced down at the letter again with a certain fondness. Of course she remembered that afternoon. How could she have forgotten?

_'You know I can't accept this,' She pressed the red velvet box against his chest._

_His mouth pouted into a slight frown, a flash of hurt permeating his bright blue eyes._

_'Cora, I want you to have it,' He pleaded, his knuckles brushing across her cheek and sending chills across her skin._

_She shook her head, and kept walking along the path between the plum trees. Her face bent forward, she started to recite knowingly, 'A lady never accepts gifts from a gentleman that aren't…'_

_'But you aren't a lady,' He went on teasingly following her along at a languid pace, 'not yet, at least. You're still Miss. Cora Levinson. The Cora Levinson I've known all my life. The Cora Levinson that I…' He placed his hand on her forearm, and she turned to face him._

_'David, please,' She interjected, bringing her forefinger to the center of his mouth. Swallowing hard, she shook her head, 'Don't say it.'_

_His hand encircled her wrist, placing her hand at his chest. 'Why not?' He entreated, wrapping his other arm around her waist._

_She blinked several times, lowering her gaze between them, trying not to catch sight of his soft lips that he only just touched moments ago. 'Because if I pretend you don't feel that way it'll make leaving easier.' She decided sadly, her fingers drumming at the front of his jacket._

_He brought his hand beneath her chin, tilting her face back to align her gaze with his. His light eyes pooled unsettlingly, 'And me not telling you how I feel will make your departure harder.' He took a step back, leaving a modest space between them. He brought the tiny box between them again, 'Which is why I want you to have this.' He opened it again, the hinges whining in protest to reveal the pale pink and ivory cameo broach encircled with tiny gems. 'Don't you like it?'_

_She nodded, keeping her focus on the pin as she murmured quietly, 'It's very beautiful.'_

_'Just like you,' He complimented._

_She winced at the sincerity in his words. Placing a hand between them, she tried pushing it back to him a second time, 'But I can't take it from you. I could never wear it, and if Mother ever found it…'_

_'So hide it," He suggested, pulling the broach from the pillowed interior, and placing it in her right palm. 'You're a clever girl, Cora,' He closed her hand around it before squeezing reassuringly, 'at least leave letting me think you kept it.'_

"How is Mr. Levinson fairing on his own, Miss?" Lucy asked with an air of casual politeness.

The question jarred Cora from her thoughts of David Adelberg, and she instantly moved her thumb to cover the signature at the bottom of the page.

Glancing up in the mirror, she managed a smooth reply of, "Just fine, thank you," before she took to carefully folding, and securely stuffing the letter back into the envelope. "Mother will be pleased to learn the house is still standing," Cora added, able to give her voice a teasing lilt, which allowed both women to share a short laugh.

It made things easier to have a maid whom she liked. Before Lucy came on, Cora shared her mother's maid, Flossy, who often made Cora uncomfortable with her piercing grey stares full of silent judgments. She reminded Cora of the headmistress at school. Her brown hair flecked with greys was pulled into a tightly coiled bun that gathered at the nape of her neck. Thin lips that were often drawn into a severe line, jaw muscles that clenched in disapproval at the things Cora said or the way she carried herself.

Cora always felt as though she were on the verge of being reprimanded in Flossy's presence. Like the time she commissioned a dress that exposed the tops of her shoulders, and was met with an irritable: _I'll see what can be done about it, Miss_, _but this sort of_ thing _isn't_ generally _what_ ladies maid's _are asked to work with,_ when Cora asked her about alterations for it. For someone whose job entailed pressing unmentionables and dressing ladies, Flossy felt rather uncomfortable and adverse to anything that exposed too much skin.

Not to mention, her loyalty was first and foremost to Mrs. Levinson, and the maid didn't have any qualms in letting her mother know of Cora's misgivings that accompanied most during those adolescent years. There weren't any confidences to be shared between them. Just clipped conversation about the day's events or the weather or other topics of neutrality that girl's learn are appropriate for all occasions at finishing school.

Cora felt quite differently around Lucy. She was closer to Cora's own age, maybe a three or four years older, with a sweet natured temperament. Her knowledge of trends and styles aligned with Cora's tastes, and made their daily interactions rather enjoyable since Lucy was quicker to encourage Cora's style and behavior rather than criticize it.

But even with this trust they built over the last few months, Cora wasn't sure just how deeply Lucy's fidelity ran. While the young woman seemed eager to gain her trust entirely, Cora was a bit wary in making her communications with David Adelberg known. She knew that servants talked, even though idle gossip about their employers was frowned upon, it still likely occurred. And she couldn't risk Flossy discovering this bit of information, for then Martha would learn of her daughter's continued friendship with _that Adelberg boy_.

So Cora remained mute on the subject of the letter, and opened one of the top drawers of the dressing table, filing it away in a tiny box reserved for her correspondences. She made a mental note to press it in her journal once Lucy left, knowing it would be safer in such a location.

Lucy set down the brush, and was beginning to thread Cora's long tresses into a single braid, when a knock at the door startled the both of them.

Cora glanced up in the mirror, opening her mouth to welcome the visitor in whenever her mother poked her head inside the room. "I thought I'd look in before bed," She announced lightly, and Cora recognized the translation to mean: _We need to have a discussion._

Turning in her chair, she looked up at Lucy and remarked dismissively, "Thank you, Luce. I can manage the rest."

Bobbing her head, Lucy bid both women goodnight, and saw herself out of the dressing room.

Cora faced the mirror once more, picking up the pieces of her hair that Lucy dropped, ready to restart braiding. However, as Martha strolled deeper into the room, she hovered behind her daughter's chair, fingers lightly running through the crown of her dark waves.

"May I?" She wondered, keeping her gaze trained on her daughter's hair.

Cora couldn't contain her smile, and wordlessly passed the pieces already forming the top of the plait to her mother's outstretched fingers. She sat up straighter in her seat, watching her mother slowly work to smooth out her unruly, textured hair.

It reminded her of whenever she was a child. No older than eight or nine years old, of course. Martha insisted on two sets of braids with ribbons that hung low down the fronts of her shoulders. Harold would pull on them until they unfurled, making her cry that he had ruined all of Mother's hard work, and she'd never want to do Cora's hair ever again.

Of course that wasn't the case, and Martha kept the ritual until Cora was sent away to school. Then she was forced to teach herself such skills. Although now, she hardly understood why she learned these tasks in the first place; it all seemed like a rather pointless lesson now that she had Lucy to do them for her.

A few moments of silence encapsulated them while Martha wove her daughter's hair into a tight braid, and Cora could feel the tenderness in each gesture that betrayed the otherwise downcast expression that graced her mother's face.

She wasn't always so reserved with her affections, and this masking of it was a recent facet to her character; coincidentally becoming more prevalent since her father left them.

"You haven't done this in a long while," Cora remarked wistfully, hoping to alleviate the gloomy countenance she saw reflected in the glass frame.

"Yes well…" Martha exhaled heavily, "…you're far too old for me to make a habit of it." Her emerald eyes flickered up just for a moment, the corners of her mouth twitching before she refocused on the task at hand. "But…" She went on, pausing in between choice words, "…who knows how many more times I'll be privy to indulge in this?"

"Oh Momma," Cora lamented sadly, tilting her head to the side.

"Keep your head straight, please," Her mother instructed, swallowing back whatever emotion was bubbling beneath the surface.

Cora did as she was told, her gaze sweeping across the top of the dressing table. "Did you wish to speak to me about something?" She ventured lightly, trying to steer the conversation away from any airs of sentimentality as it was apparent her mother wanted none of that at present.

Inhaling a breath, Martha reminded her, "We're leaving for London tomorrow."

"Yes?" Cora prompted, lifting a curious brow.

"Are you anxious at all?" Her mother wondered, slowing her motions now that the braid reached the base of her head.

"A bit," Cora admitted lightly. She then continued bashfully, "I suppose I'm more excited than anxious though."

Martha found her gaze staring back in the mirror, and she nodded, the briefest of smiles flickering across her mouth again. Lowering her eyes back to her hands, she continued working through her daughter's hair.

"Well, I suppose excitement's the better thing to feel," Her mother informed her. "But Cora," She looked up again, pausing, "don't be _so overcome_ that you select the first man who fixes his sights on you. There are many variables we have to consider beyond a charming personality or an attractive face."

"Yes Momma," Cora agreed, trying not to roll her eyes.

"It _is_ your choice to make," Martha instructed plainly, "but _with_ stipulations. And I think they're rather fair all things considered."

"_Yes. _They are _perfectly fair_, Momma." Her words were now strained with irritation from the lecture she never did a thing to warrant.

"After all, your father left quite a legacy," Her mother's tone lost its stiffness, and a softer tenor tinged with a faltering sadness was revealed, disarming every ounce of annoyance Cora started to feel moments ago.

She regarded her mother's reflection with rapt attention. She scarcely made mention of Poppa since he passed. And now, Cora found herself hanging onto every last word her mother uttered.

"We should do well to…honor all that he…sacrificed in this life for us…as _best_ we can." Martha cleared her throat and swallowed hard, careful to keep herself steady while she tied off the end of Cora's braid.

"I keep thinking what he would have wanted for me. I know it was to inherit a title but beyond that..." Cora intoned, leaning her elbow on a dressing table and peering up into the mirror again. Shaking her head slowly she confessed rather hopelessly, "I don't even know what sort of man he'd find _worthy_ of his money."

Staring back at her daughter's reflection, Martha's brow inverted and she managed a weak smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. Placing a hand on her daughter's shoulder, she assured as steadily as she could muster given the dark clouds that loomed over her. "A well bred man who makes you happy...and who takes good care of you. That's all he'd want for you, Cora."

Nodding she tipped her head forward, eyes hiding behind her heavy lids while she murmured, "I miss him." Cora fused her lips together, trying to stifle them from trembling.

The hand on her shoulder tightened momentarily before encircling both of her shoulders. "As do I," Martha whispered, placing a quick kiss at the top of her daughter's head.

She leaned into her mother's strong embrace, her hand curling over her mother's forearm tightly as she let out a jagged exhalation. But before they could lose themselves entirely in their grief, Cora felt her mother let go and squeezed her shoulder one final time.

Her face turned away from the mirror, all Cora was left with her mother's rasping, faraway voice ordering, "Try and get some rest. We have a long journey ahead of us."

She didn't doubt her mother's words, but as soon as the door shut behind her Momma, Cora forced her mind to wander anywhere from where it had just been. She couldn't think of her father, and give into her grief. Not when there was still so much work to be done.

Silently swiping away the few tears that streaked her cheeks, Cora glanced at the top drawer to her left. She thought of the letter inside.

_He_ was well bred,_ he_ made her happy, _and_ he _could_ take care of her. Just not in the ways her parents wanted for her.

Letting out an unsteady breath, Cora reopened the drawer, and pulled out the letter. She unfolded it once more, and set it beside an empty piece of paper. Her eyes scanned script line for line, focusing on the sections where questions needed answered or comments desired remarking over.

The journey was to be a long one as her mother suggested. But Cora intended to make the best use of the time she had left to travel.

* * *

_**Alright so this chapter might seem kind of all over the place (and truthfully, it probably is hah). But one of the major parts of this story is the letter writing between Cora &amp; David (also Robert's past w/Julia), so I feel like I kind of needed to honor those storylines a bit as well, even if it slows down the plot progression in terms of Cobert meeting &amp; such. (Don't worry, we'll get there sooner than you might think ;)). And there are some lame attempts at jokes/metaphors throughout this update. Hopefully they aren't too stupid lol. Anyway, I really appreciate everyone's comments/likes/follows/reblogs/favorites/PM's/etc in regards to this fic so far. You all really make my day with them. :)**_

_**(And yes, for those of you wondering, I am hopeful to soon be posting an update to 'These Lonely Souls &amp; Empty Hearts.' For some reason my muse has been dancing around &amp; flaming the fires of creativity for this fic, and I've had to tell him to share the creative juices for the other works as well, hehe. -Lynn, Queen of Lame Metaphors)**_


	6. His Best Kept Secret

Robert straightened the front of his dinner jacket for the third time since he arrived downstairs in the saloon. His hands smoothed over both lapels before reaching behind to repeat the action to his tails.

Rosamund, legs stretched across one compartment of the borne settee, quirked a curious brow up at him. "What has you all fidgety?" She wondered, resting her cheek against her palm, arm propped up on the red velvet armrest.

"Nothing," Robert remarked flatly, clasping his hands behind him in order to stop them from adjusting his jacket yet again.

It was a lie, and his heart thumped hard against his ribs at the thought of what it all meant. Still, he kept his face as unaffected as possible from Rosamund's question, keeping his eyes fixed on the bare staircase under the pretense of anticipating their guests arrival.

"It doesn't appear like nothing," Rosamund commented, eyes glimmering with intrigue.

Robert stared at her pointedly, his tone stiffening, "Well it is. Just as I've said. _Nothing._" He leaned towards her, his eyes widening as if by placing specific emphasis on the final word would make it seem more truthful.

Snickering out of amusement mingled with disbelief, Rosamund swung her legs over the edge of the couch, her feet landing against the carpeted floor. Elbows resting atop her knees, she propped her chin against two fists, scrunching her face up at him.

Robert snorted, taking a step back and rolling his eyes.

"The childish teasing never ends does it, Cousin Robert?" Came the sneering, slippery voice that belonged to James Crawley as he scurried down the main staircase and entered the saloon.

James stood a bit taller than Robert, but walked with an entitled arrogance that seemed to come from the Rutherford side of his family rather than the Crawley half. He closely resembled the Crawley's with his chestnut hair, tinged with auburn. His forehead wide and chin pointed just like both of his Crawley cousins, and his eyes an equal mix of bright blue and sharp green, although they were more ovular than almond shaped.

And if it weren't for these distinct physical qualities, Robert and Rosamund would deny any relation between them could exist. For in character, James Crawley was everything unlike his father's side.

He was overly indulged by his mother, which lead to him believing he was always in the right. Even when he was very much so in the wrong. He was opinionated, but lacked the tact that George Crawley imparted on both of his children. He spoke his mind, without thought or disregard to how other's might take his views. And he didn't seem to care to hear any arguments they might try to make against him.

He expected to be doted upon with nothing short of perfect ease, and expected everyone to comply to this request without question. This left him largely disappointed and dissatisfied with everything, and James Crawley had no issue making his displeasure known to anyone in the world who would listen.

So it wasn't all that shocking for Robert to witness his sister's mischievous expression fall into one of sheer irritation by the sudden arrival of their cousin.

"It's not _childish_, James," She scoffed haughtily, shooting him a venomous glance over her shoulder. "Just _mere _curiosity."

"Haven't you heard?" James smirked, narrowing his eyes at her contemptuous wit while he met them in the middle of the saloon. Pressing his hand in the back of the settee, he leaned forward to whisper into Rosamund's ear, "Women aren't meant to be curious."

Robert held in his breath, bracing himself for the imminent storm this single bolt of wisdom his cousin intended to impart on his sister would inevitably create.

He wasn't wrong whenever Rosamund turned in her seat, bracing glaring up at James, "And where has that been preordained? That women aren't to be curious, I mean?"

He merely shrugged, squeezed her shoulder before patting it in what was a seemingly reassuring gesture, "It's a sheer fact of life, dear cousin."

Rosamund huffed, jerking herself away from her cousin's reach, arms folded across her chest. "Not as far as I'm concerned," She retorted, blowing at the curls that hung across her forehead.

"Perhaps that's part of your difficulty," James went on, strolling around the settee to arrive by Robert's side.

"I beg your pardon?" Rosamund frowned, her brow knitting together. "My _difficulty_?"

"In landing a husband," James finished for her smartly.

Robert glanced warily between his sister and his cousin, genuinely surprised that Rosamund hadn't leapt up from her seat and slapped that mocking smirk off James' face. He certainly wished he could.

The things he'd love to say to James could fill a Henry James novel. Yet, Robert remained silent, just as Rosamund did, reminding himself of how necessary an alliance with his only male cousin might be one day. His father had made it plain enough time and time again.

_When we're all gone, it'll be you and Rosamund and James. I'd like to die knowing some semblance of loyalty remains in the Crawley Family. Else Patrick &amp; I have failed in furthering along this great dynasty._

Still, there was no mistaking Rosamund's hatred for James Crawley's insolence. Her face flushed with heat, eyes burning with an ire that boiled deep inside of her, and the muscles of her jaw rippling beneath the surface as she forced herself to stifle the expletives that threatened to burst forth and provide James with more reason to criticize her. Her hands slowly clenched into fists until her knuckles bled white, and Robert took a cautious step towards his sister's seated form since James seemed intent in going on about her misfortune in finding a husband.

"Perhaps if you weren't so terribly curious as to what everyone else was doing or how they felt, more men would be keen to take you on as their wife?"

Rosamund leapt to her feet, hands balled at her sides, eyes shining vehemently in James direction. Her voice rumbled in the back of her throat, her face a few centimeters from his, "And perhaps if you weren't so terribly rude…"

"Rude?" The high pitched word discussed the brief argument, and three sets of eyes turned to take in the presence of Lady Catherine Rutherford-Crawley, or more commonly known to Robert as, Aunt Catherine.

She was a short woman, with glistening blonde curls and dark green eyes that gleamed just as deviously as a serpent's. Her face was rounder and appeared more youthful than she actually was at seven and forty. It was said by Mama that being widowed at thirty had something to do with it. Still, with shoulders rolled back and chin jutting forward, she was a woman who knew her place in the world and didn't hesitate to seize it.

"Who's rude?" She wondered again, cocking her head to the side in sheer astonishment, "Surely not my James?"

Robert noticed her eyes rest upon Rosamund, and his sister glanced down at the reproachful look shot in her direction.

"Cousin Rosamund is just upset by the advice I was attempting to impart on her, Mother." James dutifully relayed his own version of the truth, a satisfied smile creasing his mouth.

Glaring over at him, Rosamund shrieked, her hands flying wildly about, "I was not!"

"Oh my dear, there's no need to shout about it." Aunt Catherine crooned in her seemingly sweet voice while she haphazardly patted Rosamund on the arm. "I'm sure James best intentions were at heart." She turned swiftly towards James, pinching his cheek in between her fingers while adding, "Weren't they, my boy?"

"Of course Mother," James grimaced slightly.

Rosamund snorted at this gesture, and Robert nudged her in the arm to stifle her reaction.

James glared up at her, keeping his voice as light as possible, "I have nothing but _fondness_ for Cousin Rosamund."

"Oh, ha, haha, hahaha," The sound of dry laughter rang from the gallery above, prompting all of those standing below to gaze up in curiosity as Violet Crawley looked downward upon them. She cleared her throat upon noticing the severe look shot up by James and his mother. "Oh, oh I'm terribly sorry. I hope I didn't interrupt a _serious_ discussion just now," She clasped a hand at her lace collar, her face feigning slight embarrassment at being discovered eavesdropping.

"Not a serious one, no," Came Aunt Catherine's terse reply.

Cocking her head to the side, she merely smirked and added rather swiftly, "Well I thought just as much since _you_ were already down, _sweet_ _Catherine_. But it certainly doesn't hurt to inquire. I'd hate to overlook any rhetorical improvements you've made since we last saw one another."

The confidence that once emboldened Aunt Catherine's confidence soon flittered away with this verbal slight Mama tossed her way. But like she had been raised to, she never let it show for too long. Plastering on artificial smile Aunt Catherine did her best to sound agreeable, "I'm sure you would, _dearest Violet_."

"Now," Mama's voice floated down from the rafters as she gracefully made her way downstairs, "I think we should all we settle ourselves in the drawing room as we await our guests' arrival, hmm?"

There was a general murmur of agreement, and once Mama reached the middle of the saloon, she smiled tightly, extending an arm for James to escort her into the next room, Aunt Catherine practically stomping after them.

Robert looked at Rosamund, who was biting on her lower lip to stifle the pleased grin that wanted to appear. He cleared his throat to quell the laughter tickling the back of his throat. A light hearted giggle escaped her, and Rosamund quickly covered her mouth with a gloved hand.

Linking arms with her brother, they slowly followed the procession. Robert couldn't resist the urge to whisper in his sister's ear, "Round one goes to Mama."

Rosamund smirked and added with an arched brow, "Five words I never thought I'd be so gladdened to hear."

* * *

The presence of Aunt Catherine and Cousin James, was surely an addition to any dinner party that Robert would generally meet with a sense of dread. But when he compared them to the sight of the newly wedded Winborne's, they were a welcomed sight.

He wasn't sure what possessed Mama to host a dinner for Richard &amp; Julia Winborne. She claimed it was all a matter of polite convenience, Downton being so close to Overton, and the newlyweds in need of a respite after a long journey across The Continent.

But Robert knew his mother better than that. He knew it was no accident that he had been strategically placed in between Julia Winborne and his cousin James. Just like it was no accident that her husband, Richard, sat on the opposite side and end of the table, close to Mama.

Perhaps it was done to torture him further. He wouldn't put it past her. When Mama had a scheme in mind, she did all that she could to set it in motion.

Even so, _this_ was a bit excessive, if not borderline reckless on Mama's part, all things considered.

Robert was at least grateful for the happy glow that seemed to radiated between the couple while they merrily answered questions that Aunt Catherine, Mama, and even Rosamund posited.

He could keep his head down for the most part, preoccupy his mind with pushing his food around his plate. He only lifted his fork whenever his eye did unintentionally find his mother, staring sharply at him. As if she were silently demanding that he show more enthusiasm for the meal and joyous conversation that rang through the dining hall.

But how could he possibly find enjoyment in this meal? How could he taste the food without taking generous sips of claret in between every bite? He couldn't.

Not as long as she looked so dazzling in the gold evening gown embroidered with intricate brown thread, adorned with rhinestones. It cut to expose the fullness of chest, the top swell of her breasts peaking from beneath the silken fabric. Her dark hair was swept up in intricate coils, a gold band woven through her hair. A few loose tendrils fell out from glimmering hold of her hair ornaments, caressing the back of her neck, just as he once did.

And her eyes, he didn't need to look into to them to know how they lit up with excitement as she looked the rest of the way down the table at her husband. He could see the happiness radiating back in Richard Winborne's dark, warm eyes.

It was almost like they were happy together. Almost as though they loved one another.

Robert felt his hand squeezed his fork rather hard at the thought, daring himself to look up at his plate and take in Julia Winborne's dazzling profile while she animatedly answered yet another question Aunt Catherine posed.

Luckily, James provided the sort of distraction Robert sorely needed at the moment.

"Gracious will the hens ever stop clucking?" He grumbled, his icy gaze flittering down the table before rolling back out of annoyance.

Robert turned towards his cousin, smiling out of jest, "Think I ought to throw them a piece of bread?"

"I'm afraid if you do they'll only beat their tongues harder," He remarked sarcastically. "And I'd much prefer you do something to reverse the affect."

Robert snickered briefly at this, feeling an unlikely bond being struck between them. It was however, a shortlived feeling as Julia Winborne appeared to be more in tune with their conversation ever since the focus of discourse shifted towards her husband.

"If you aren't satisfied with the topic of conversation, Mr. Crawley, perhaps you could appeal to Lady Grantham to suggest a new one?" Julia asked sweetly, batting her eyelashes for emphasis.

James' gaze trained on her, hardened and he offered with a snobbish air, "I wouldn't _dream_ of troubling my _dear_ Aunt Violet in such a manner, Lady Winborne."

"But you'll trouble her guest, and _your cousin_ instead?" She cast a momentarily glance in Robert's direction, and his heart skipped a beat at her brief reference to him.

Setting down his cutlery, James cocked his head to the side, his eyes narrowing, "I don't recall ever inviting you upon our conversation, Lady Winborne. So I cannot help if you are troubled by the nature of it."

"What- what's so troubling about discussing our guests recent travels?" Mama's questioning tone glided down the table towards James as she shifted forward in her seat.

For a moment, James appeared torn between answering his Aunt's inquiry or making his irritation of Julia Winborne known. In the event, he shot a seemingly innocent smile down the table and chimed in, "Nothing at all Aunt Violet."

"Then why allude to it?" She rejoined rhetorically, spooning a bit of fish in her mouth.

"Oh you know how James is, Violet." Aunt Catherine trilled with a shrug of her shoulders, "He always brings such a lively nature to conversation. Isn't that right, George?" She nudged her brother-in-law's arm before snapping a piece of asparagus off of her fork.

Lord Grantham cleared his throat and look across the table to his wife, "So long as his liveliness does not offend our guests, I see no trouble with it."

Robert heard his mother mutter something beneath her breath that garnered his father's attention, but it was mostly unintelligible. After washing down her fish with some wine, Mama pursed her lips and decided to steer the course of the conversation back to a more agreeable subject.

"Tell me, Lady Winbore, how did you find Paris?"

"And they're at it again," James mumbled beneath his breath, staring down at his plate.

Julia's pale blue eyes shot daggers in his direction just before she shifted in her seat again to respond genially, "It was lovely. So many sights to see. So many things to do. And they've finally finished La tour Eiffel. It was a remarkable thing to see, especially at night."

"Yes," Richard joined in eagerly, "they have hundreds of gas lamps illuminating the entire thing! It looks marvelous from a distance."

"And with musicians playing everywhere," Julia finished for him, her cheeks growing more rosy as her tone took on a nostalgic air. "It was impossible not to want to dance."

"Oh how terribly romantic that sounds!" Aunt Catherine exclaimed, dropping her cutlery with a noticeable clang that startled everyone at the table. Clasping her hands together she went on a dramatically, "I should think all the young couples would want to visit on their honeymoon now." She shifted her gaze purposefully to Rosamund, Robert, and then her son in turn. "Wouldn't you like to take your new wife there one day, James?"

"Supposing I ever have a wife," He taunted.

"Oh! You beastly boy!" His mother shrieked, mostly for dramatic effect.

"Let's not say things we don't mean, my dear boy," Mama remarked in an even tone, patting James' arm. "We don't want your mother to..."

But Robert didn't hear what his mother had to say next, nor did he discover what James or Aunt Catherine had to say in reply. Because at that very moment, Julia Winborne inclined her face in his direction, and spoke to him directly for the first time all evening.

"I hope you aren't too cross with me, Lord Downton."

If he hadn't been paying attention to the words her mouth was forming, Robert didn't think he'd be able to hear her below all the cacophony taking place around the table, guarding the intimacy of such a moment they might share.

"I've no reason to be cross with you, Lady Winborne," Robert assured, arching a questioning curious brow.

"Not even about us _barging_ into _your_ home?" She wondered softly, leaning her arm against the table.

Swallowing the mouthful of food, Robert shook his head slowly, "You haven't _barged_ in." He glanced down between them, noticing the close proximity of their arms. Looking back up to find her steady gaze, he declared neutrally, "Mama was happy to host you for an evening."

"And you?" She probed, her bare arm slipping against the cloth covering the table, and bumping into his lightly.

He pretended not to notice even though his heart was hammering fiercely deep inside of him, his gaze indadvertedly landing on her plump, pink lips.

"Were you quite happy to host us as well?" She finished curiously, and Robert's throat ran dry.

Just as quickly as they found protection amidst Aunt Catherine's dramatic cries and James' bold declaration, they were soon discovered.

"Julia, darling!" Lord Winborne's voice rang out from the other end of the table, forcing Robert's arm down to adjust the serviette in his lap, and Julia to sit up straighter in her chair. "What was the name of that charming town we visited during our tour of the vineyards? Lady Grantham was just asking me, and the name of the place escapes me."

"Oh uhm..." Julia dabbed the corner of her lips with a napkin, conjuring up the answer.

Robert shoved a piece of asparagus in his mouth, chewing it thoughtfully as he heard Julia's answer of _Chablis, just south of Paris. _

While the conversation dissolved into a lively discussion on wine, Robert didn't need to raise his eyes to know his mother was watching them more closely now.

* * *

It wasn't often that he couldn't sleep soundly through the night. But for some reason, Robert found himself falling in and out of a restless slumber. He tried kicking off the bed coverings, propping himself up with more pillows, turning this way and that, but all to no avail.

When it was half past three, he then decided the best method of tiring himself out would be non other than a book. If he could tire his whirring mind, immerse himself in some source material that would enable him to forget the days event, maybe then he'd manage to steal a few hours of shut eye.

Lighting a single candle, he carefully departed from his dressing room, and padded downstairs to the library. He cringed whenever the door squealed noisily in protest, but then jumped suddenly whenever a loud, _bang! _erupted from the dark depths of the room.

"Is someone there?" He called out urgently, eyes straining to see beyond the tiny pinprick of light he held in his hand.

"Robert?" Came a soft, lighthearted voice from the other side of the settee.

Her turned swiftly, the whoosh of the flame nearly snuffing it out. Squinting through the semi-darkness, he could barely see her darkened silhouette illuminated from the dying embers in the large fireplace.

"Lady Winborne?" He questioned, taking a tentative step closer.

"There's no need to dispense with formalities," She practically laughed. "It's only the two of us."

As Robert drew nearer, he tried not to stare at the flimsy silk and lace of her night gown and robe. He lifted the candle higher, so as to only to see her face, least he be tempted.

"Are you alright? I heard a noise," He explained out of mild concern.

The radiant light showed her smiling back at him pleasantly, and she assured, "Perfectly so. Although..." She lifted her hands and he noticed the front of her robe fall open a bit, "I'm afraid I broke a candle."

He shook his head, forcing his candle yielding hand higher. Clearing his throat he looked her in the eye and assured, "Oh well...that's alright."

She looked down at herself, suddenly realizing the state of her undress, and worked her hands to redraw the front of her dressing gown shut.

Robert watched her for a few seconds, but then forced his gaze towards the dying fire in the hearth. He didn't want to appear indecent, in spite of the many thoughts that now raced through his brain.

"Did I startle you?" He wondered, waiting until he could see her hands still from the corner of his eye.

"A bit," She admitted shyly before abruptly adding. "But then again, when one goes on a night time stroll, everything feels heightened."

Robert looked back at her face and nodded.

There was a pause between them, and then he had to ask, "What are you doing out of bed? Are you not comfortable enough?"

"Oh no! The Princess Amelia room is perfectly comfortable for the two of us!" She reassured, beaming up at him. "It's just..." Her excitement faded a bit, and she smirked, "Richard snores rather dreadfully, I'm afraid. Particularly after a few evening ports." She laughed a bit at this, but Robert found his mind going elsewhere.

"The two of you share a dressing room? Isn't that a bit unusual?"

Angling back her face, Julia blinked back a bit incredulously, "No more unusual than you asking about it."

"Sorry," He lowered his gaze, feeling his cheeks burn with slight embarrassment at the presumptuous remark, "I-I don't know why I said that."

Julia chuckled lowly, signaling she took no offense to his words, but couldn't help tease him for them. "He likes to linger is all," She explained casually, extending her foot to nudge him in the shin, "Unlike some people I know."

Robert wiggled his brow and taunted, "Well to my recollection you always hated _that_."

"I did," She confessed, her mouth twitching at the corners before she looked towards the fireplace.

"And not any longer?" He probed.

She shrugged, thinking it over for a moment. As though she had found the answer she was looking for in the burning coals, she reaffixed her gaze on him and explained, "I suppose it's just another aspect of married life I'll grow used to over time."

Robert furrowed his brow, "It didn't sound as though you've had a hard time adjusting over dinner. In fact, I'd say married life tends to agree with you."

A ripple of amusement came from the back of her throat and she nodded, "I do confess, it is rather exciting. To always have someone. Someone who's yours and yours alone. But..." Her shoulders lifted again and she let out a sigh, "I doubt all that excitement can last forever. Not without wearing one's self out altogether."

He considered her words. And along with them he considered the differing types of marriage he'd seen thus far. Mama and Papa married out of convenience, and they couldn't stand one another. Freddie and Ann were another case of convenience, and they seemed happy enough. And now Richard and Julia. Their marriage was one born out of choice, and they appeared to be happier than most, but would it last?

He hoped for her sake it would. He hoped she would be happy. She deserved nothing but good wishes from him.

Robert heard the desperate words rasp from his throat before he could stop them, "Is he good to you?"

He watched her expression change beneath the soft glow of the candlelight. The lighthearted smile disintegrated, her lips parted slightly, eyes studying him with a sort of longing that only makes his heart beat faster.

Closing her mouth and swallowing, she bend her face forward and exhaled shakily, "Not as good as you were to me."

Robert felt his breath catch in his throat, his eyes closing while he leaned into her. "Julia," He protested weakly, feeling his forehead touch hers.

"I was a fool to turn you down," She whispered suddenly, unfolding her arms and encircling his neck with her hands.

Their noses brushed together while they struggled against the temptation they felt on each other's lips. Robert broke the silence, giving her assurance she so desperately needed, "You had good reason for doing so."

"Selfish reasons," Her voice broke a bit, and Robert's free hand stroked the side of her face, fingers tangling in her dark curls.

Julia clutched the front of his nightshirt, her words coming out more frantically now, "I don't understand why you're still so good to me. After I turned you down, and forced you to watch me marry another man, and then brought him into your home, to show you how bright eyed and happy we are together."

He could sense her fragile state and pulled his face away just fraction so that he might see her eyes. They were growing dark with regret, a feeling that had seized him so fiercely when they first went their separate ways. He'd give anything to feel it again, in her place.

Thumb gently caressing the swell of her cheek, he told her with as much confidence as the situation would allow him to muster, "Because I agree with your decision to marry Richard over me."

Surprise flickered through her face, and then the confused frown as she began, "But that night, you said..."

"What I said that night was spoken out of desperation," He murmured quickly. The words he was forced to keep inside were flowing freely from his lips now, and he didn't bother to censor himself. "I was desperate man who was speaking from the hollow of his broken heart, not from his sound mind."

Her mouth gaped in slight horror, and she leaned back. "I broke your heart?"

Robert released his hold on her, turning away from her. It was a question he wouldn't answer, no matter how hard she pressed him to.

"Oh Robert," She lamented sadly. He felt the weight of her hand on his arm, and he reluctantly glanced up at her guilty countenance. Shaking her head slowly, Julia admitted, "I had no idea just how deep your affection ran for me. I thought...I thought you were asking me to marry you because..."

"That was _part_ of my motivation," He interrupted swiftly, nodding to confirm her assumptions. But then daring himself to add in a single exhalation, "But not _all_ of it."

Her bottom lip quivered and her face contorted while she chastised herself, "I can't believe I was so blind. So stupid."

"No, darling..." He intoned softly, seizing hold of her hand and squeezing in affirmatively.

She brought their joined hands to the center of her chest and gushed, "If I had known that I meant more to you then..."

"If you had known" Robert insisted plainly, "you would have made the wrong choice. You wouldn't have been happy here, Julia."

"I would have," She whined, hanging tightly onto his hand, "I would have been happy anywhere, so long as I was with you."

Oh, how he had wished to hear those words from her months ago. How he longed for her to tell him that a life at Downton as the future Countess of Grantham was everything she ever wanted.

And now, here she was, Lady Julia Winborne, a woman married to another man, telling him precisely everything he wanted to hear months ago when he sunk down on one knee and professed his desire to honor and protect her always. And he was sorely tempted.

But if nothing else, his time apart from her had made him see things more clearly now. Made him come to realize that _this_, whatever it was that they wanted from one another, would never be anything more than a few months passion during the hot summer months in London.

"No," Robert argued sadly, looking up at her eyes full of yearning. He blinked hard several times, and pulled his hand away from hers. "No," He said again, slowly shaking his head. "No," He brought his palm to the side of her face, reminding her, "you need bright lights, and crowded ballrooms, and loud dinner parties, and the theatre every other night. You need adventure that only a city can offer. Not a quiet life in the country."

She closed her eyes and let out a shaky breath. Her head inclined every so slightly, and he thought she was nodding in agreement. But when he felt the damp tears rolling over his thumb, he realized she was merely collecting herself.

"I still think of you, you know?" She confessed, her voice breaking up with guilt. "Sometimes. Late at night. Do you ever...think of me?"

The minimal glow of the candle accentuated her sadness. And he had to admit, there was something about her that he still found to be hauntingly beautiful.

Perhaps it was because there were no airs or pretenses that had to hide behind. Perhaps it was because, in this moment, she was merely Julia. Not Lady Winborne with her hair intricately coiled, sweet smile plastered on her face to mask her true feeling underneath, clad in an elegantly embroidered gown. But Julia, her dark mane running wild down her shoulders, the pained expression that couldn't be concealed behind a smile, dressed in her nightgown and barefoot.

She was more honest with him now than she'd ever been. And so, he felt the need to reciprocate in kind, by telling her the truth.

His hand ran deeper into her frizzy waves, his gaze lowering to that of her rosebud lips. He drew her nearer and, eyes disappearing behind drooping lids, he offered her his own confession of, "More than I'd care to admit."

She let out the breath she'd been holding in since she dared to ask the question, and the flame that burned between them suddenly blew out.

* * *

**I know it's SUPER long. Sorry about that. You all know that brevity is not a strong suit of mine. Hopefully it's still as engaging hah. In spite of it's length, I really did enjoy writing this chapter, even though it took me forever to compose hah. Let me know what you all think if you have the time. As always I am open to any comments, criticisms, words of wisdom, etc, you might have to impart on me. Thanks again for reading, you all are amazing humans! :)**


	7. Divisions Over Lunch

Cora watched the mint green curtains billow lazily as another cool breeze coursed through the open window of her dressing room. She closed her eyes, relishing in the refreshing sensation it brought to the otherwise stifling room.

The sounds of the city below carried on the tail end of the wind, and she sat motionlessly for several moments, getting lost in them.

There was the clip clop of horses hooves over the pavement coupled with the rattling of carriage wheels. The genial buzz of conversations she couldn't make sense of as various people went about their daily business. The cries of street vendors pedaling their goods to those strolling by. A shrill siren went off somewhere, alerting crowds to stand clear while they rushed off to some sort of emergency. And the melodious ringing of childish laughter that floated high above it all, suggesting there was fun to be had in the city of London.

She felt relatively calm, in spite of sitting in front of another foreign writing desk, in a borrowed dressing room that would house her for several weeks before she was dispensed back to the one at Covington Place.

She decided it was the lively hum of the city that set her at ease.

The familiar sounds and smells that disguised the fact she was in unchartered territory, among natives who regarded her with both intrigue and suspicion. Behind closed lids, she could still take everything in while simultaneously convincing herself she was home, among familiar places and people who cared for her.

She could forget about Lady Spenser's sharp criticisms about the way she sat while taking her tea in the drawing room. Or erase the disapproving looks she received from Ada Merton as she shared her honest assessments of her character out of an act of social defiance. Or stifle her mother's lecture on how she should keep her head down, her smile ever present, and her tone convivial; else she'd end up without any prospects for a promising future here.

And even though Cora's experiences with those in London's High Society were exceptionally limited to date, she couldn't help but begin to recognize the common threads of opinion that she hoped to shed in her journey across the Atlantic had followed her somehow. As if by some unseen method, those in New York and Newport, had taken great care to ensure the ladies of London shared the same ideology as they did, in spite of never meeting one another.

The murmurs from recent memories whispered into her ears like she was standing in one of the Kaufmann's homes in upstate New York or seated at a table for tea in Rosendale Manor.

_Cora Levinson? How did she get here?_

_Does it matter? She's not one of us. Not really, anyway._

The rays of light brightened behind her closed lids, and the cool air blew back outside. Cora opened her eyes, watching the curtains flutter momentarily before deflating against the wooden window frame again.

Seeking to banish the words that unfolded within these memories, Cora's pen that was poise in midair pressed back down to the paper, and she began another letter.

_Dear David,_

_For once Harold seems to have followed instructions to the tea as I did receive your letter just before our departure. Rosendale Manor reminds me more of home than Covington Place. However, I cannot decide if this makes me melancholy or comfortable. Perhaps it is a combination of both._

_You mistake my loyalty to my family for strength. I am not made of sterner stuff as you might seem to think. The decision was made to continue forth on the path that my father laid out for me. And walking along it is the only way I think to honor his life and achievements properly. _

_Granted, it's a rather uneven and winding road with many uncertain turns that make it nearly impossible to walk on one's own. I am grateful for Ann's support as I trudge forward, just as I am grateful for your letters._

_To put your mind at ease, I never once thought anything ill towards your behavior that afternoon at the Wilton's. If anything, I welcomed it readily. And I too, cherish the memory, just as a I do the token of your affection. Yes, I kept it. It seemed wrong to part with such a thing that held such fond memories. I hope that small fact gladdens you._

_The weather is abominably hot most days, and it's rained quite a bit since we arrived. But nothing too out of the ordinary when compared to the unpredictability of the North Atlantic Coast this time of year. Lady Spenser is kind enough. I had the pleasure of also meeting some of Ann's acquaintances over luncheon. Do you know of them?_

She took great care to spell out each girl's name, wondering if Ann ever mentioned her many social calls with them to her brother at all or not. Even so, she thought it an acceptable topic of conversation. And before she could stop herself, the scene that played out over luncheon was pouring forth from her pen like an unstoppable force.

* * *

"Remind me who is who again?" Cora wondered anxiously, running her thumb and forefinger over the smooth, ruby red earring that Ann so graciously allowed her to borrow for the luncheon.

She stood a few feet from where the ovular table resided in the center of the room, watching Ann assess the finer details of the linen as well as the placement of the china.

Readjusting the angle in which a teacup rested atop one of the saucer's, Ann didn't bother to look up from her work while she answered Cora's question.

"Lady Felicity Wren, who is the daughter of a friend of Freddie's Mama. Her sister-in-law, who is Lady Ada Merton. Lady Rosamund Crawley, a daughter of their family's friend, and her cousin, Lady Susan Browning. Oh, and of course, Charlotte said she'd be down as well."

Cora bobbed her head contemplatively, hoping it would all come together in the next several minutes before Ann's guests were due to arrive. It appeared that everyone at the very least knew of one another. Everyone except her, it seemed.

And while this arrangement in London was not entirely different from the closed circuit world of New York, she'd have to make it be as such. Especially with her mother whisked away on some excursion with Lady Spenser this particular afternoon.

The thought of having to impress a roomful of respectable ladies who had the power to invite her in or shove her out of the world in itself was a bit overwhelming. The added realization that she only had Ann to steer her through it, was nearly paralyzing. She could hear her mother's instructions from earlier that morning resounding through her mind again and again.

_Remember, be charming yet demure. Do not offer strong opinions. And be sure to compliment them without being too generous. You might appear disingenuous. Remember your schooling on all other matters, and all will sail smoothly. I trust you not to follow Ann's lead on this, but rather, act in a more appropriate fashion that won't put them out. Your position is precarious, my dear. Not settled as hers._

The creaking of the door, followed by the gruff questioning of the butler, Barnes, brought Cora out of her thoughts.

"Do you find the seating unbecoming for your luncheon, Lady Covington?"

Clasping her hands together, Ann turned toward the lanky, balding man with a stern expression etched across his face.

"Not at all, Mr. Barnes, it looks lovely!" She exclaimed, offering him the most dazzling smile she could muster.

He inclined his head, clearing his throat before adding stiffly, "Might I suggest, you call on me next time you wish to make adjustments? It is how Lady Spenser would seek to do things."

Cora saw the butler's discomfort in expressing this sentiment, but this seemed to sweep over Ann in the most inconsequential manner.

"Well...I'm not Lady Spenser just yet, now am I, Barnes?" Ann trilled with a shrug of her shoulders.

"No, Milady. You are _not_."

Ann kept on smiling; ignoring this slight insubordination he tossed in her direction. Unclasping her hands, she smoothed out the front of her dress. Tilting her head to the side, she inquired sweetly, "Did you need something Walters?"

He rocked forward on the balls of his feet and informed her smoothly, "I just came to announce that your guests have arrived, Milady. Shall I send them in?"

"Yes, please do! They're probably melting out there!" Ann teased, letting out a nervous giggle.

She looked over at Cora for reassurance, her gloved hands wringing together.

Cora confided warmly, "I know I would be in this heat."

Ann beamed back, chewing on her bottom lip while taking in a steadying breath.

The door swung open and in strutted four young ladies dressed in a surplus of silk and lace, hats lined with flowers, feathers, and satin bows. Barnes announced them each in turn in a grandiose and vague fashion that didn't afford Cora the opportunity to discern who was who.

Ann received each of them with the same stiff formality that appeared to govern everyone. As the first two girls stepped forward to adorn both of Ann's cheeks with light kisses, their hands joining together, they stepped deeper into the room, their eyes fixating on the table decorated with oriental blue and white china.

Felicity Wren, a fair skinned blonde swathed in complimentary shades of pale pink and green, seemed more intrigued by the sandwiches and cakes that were already arranged on the tiered trays than in greeting Cora, who stood off to the side, smiling with hands folded neatly together at her waist. But when she soon assessed the fullness of her figure, Cora could hardly take offense to the girl's distraction.

The second girl was Lady Ada Merton, as Cora deduced from her greeting with Felicity. She had dark hair and eyes that made her choice of a dark burgundy suit trimmed with black rather fitting. When she released Felicity's hands, Cora swore the girl caught sight of her from the corner of her eye, and paused for a brief moment before she followed her friend Felicity towards the table in the center of the room.

But Cora didn't have time to feel put out by this seemingly deliberate snub, for she was soon confronted with a pair of bright green eyes and a broad smile from a young lady with copper curls that framed her angular face.

"Miss. Levinson, I presume?" She extended a hand, her mouth splitting into a welcoming smile.

"Yes," Cora replied with a breath of relief, placing her hand in the other woman's.

"What a pleasure it is to meet you. I'm Lady Rosamund Crawley," She greeted, her hand tightening around Cora's.

"How do you do, Lady Rosamund?" Cora inclined her head eagerly.

When they let go, Rosamund gracefully turned to look over at her shoulder at the last woman who could be none other than Lady Susan Browning.

"And this is my cousin, Lady Susan," She gestured behind them at Susan, who stopped dead in her tracks on her way towards the tea table. "Susan!" Rosamund called out, beckoning her forward rather determinedly with the flicker of her fingers, "Come meet Miss. Levinson."

"Oh for goodness sake, Rosamund," Susan bristled out of annoyance as she drew near, "must you be so noisy about it all." Her dark eyes swept from her cousin over to Cora and she nodded her head rather curtly.

"Hello, Miss. Levinson, I'm charmed to make your acquaintance."

It was said with as much enthusiasm as a petulant child being forced to oblige a parent. But Cora managed her best smile and emulated a sweet sounding, "It's a pleasure, Lady Browning."

Susan raised a brow while a chorus of giggles and snickers erupted from both Felicity and Ada, instantly rendering Cora self-conscious.

"What?" She looked about the room, shooting a puzzling glance at Susan, "Did I say something wrong?"

"Susan is fine, dear," She sighed heavily and rolled her eyes, patting her shoulder. "No need to strain yourself in trying to remember all the proper titles."

Ann, sensing there was a dividing tension among her guests, clapped her hands together and announced rather loudly, "Shall we all sit and take our tea, seeing as we're all assembled?"

"What about Charlotte?" Felicity Wren inquired in her high pitched tone.

"Goodness Ann," Ada huffed mockingly, pulling on each of her gloved fingers to free both hands, "have you forgotten your sister-in-law already? Poor girl."

While they were going back and forth in what Cora assumed was good natured teasing, Rosamund took her by the arm and escorted her back to the rest of the group.

"Come now Miss. Levinson," She instructed before murmuring quietly, "we must ensure you're properly introduced to those other two, I'm afraid. Unlike _their_ mother's, _mine_ would never forgive me for having such poor manners."

Cora caught Rosamund smirking wryly at her, and it eased her nerves considerably to know not everyone was intent on making her feel uncomfortable.

"Neither would mine," Cora admitted. "In fact, I'd be in for a longwinded lecture."

Rosamund let out a sharp laughing sound at this, "I am all too familiar with that approach, Miss. Levinson."

Cora managed a light snicker of agreement. When they returned to the table, Susan was settled at one of the ends, staring up at the ceiling, looking utterly bored. Ann had run upstairs to fetch her sister-in-law. Felicity was already nibbling on one of the cakes, her bent low with Ada Merton's while they appeared to be in deep discussion.

"Ladies!" Rosamund boomed rather loudly over the light murmur of private conversation, prompting both Felicity and Ada's heads to snap up suddenly. "I don't believe you've been properly introduced to Miss. Cora Levinson."

"Oh!" Felicity Wren shot up out of her chair rather abruptly, her thighs bumping clumsily into the table and causing everything to rattle rather precariously.

"Fee," Ada hissed, smacking her sister-in-law's leg with the back of her hand.

"Sorry, my apologies," Felicity grinned sheepishly before settling her attentions on Cora. "Lady Felicity Wren, Miss. Levinson." She wiped her hand against the front of her dress before extending it across the table for Cora shake.

"It's a pleasure uhm…I'm afraid I don't know what I should call you," Cora admitted shyly, her cheeks flushing with heat.

"Felicity or Fee will do just fine," She offered with a bright smile before Ada's hand tugged on her jacket sleeve, forcing her back onto her chair.

Rosamund then gestured towards the dark haired woman and began, "And may I present, Lady Ada Merton, Miss. Levinson."

Determined to get off on the right foot with sullen looking lady, Cora beamed and reached her hand forward again.

Ada Merton's dark eyes flickered down to Cora's hand momentarily before staring back at her through narrowed eyes. "Charmed, I'm sure," She drawled on in her melancholic tone. "You may call me, Lady Merton, Miss. Levinson," She informed her, the corners of her mouth twitching up slightly to convey part of her was teasing. But there was no semblance of warmth in her visage that made it feel like a jest, so Cora merely nodded solemnly and retracted her hand.

At that very moment, Ann reappeared with her sister-in-law in toe. "Here we are! All assembled!" Ann announced cheerfully.

Charlotte Spenser, a girl of barely eighteen, stood a whole head shorter than Ann, and closely resembled a china doll with her bright blue eyes and blonde hair. In the weeks that Cora had gotten to know her, she was exceptionally shy and often kept to herself. Which is why it seemed puzzling that someone as domineering and cold as Ada Merton would croon warmly at her, "Oh lovely to see you Charlotte! Come, sit over here! Fee &amp; I saved you a chair!" She waved the girl over, gesturing to the empty seat.

Charlotte looked less than enthused at the prospect of being seated in between Felicity and Ada. But she flashed a weak smile and shuffled forward to sit with them. Her tiny blue eyes peeked up at Cora from behind heavy lids, and Cora couldn't help but smile and wink reassuringly in her direction, prompting Charlotte to flash an appreciative grin and sit up straighter in her seat.

They all settled and fell into a steady rhythm of sipping tea and indulging in the cakes and sandwiches that Ann had provided for their luncheon. The majority of their conversation revolved around that of the impending season. They speculated on everything from the most eligible bachelors, to what parties and luncheons they'd already been invited to, as well as more risqué topics that involved exploits of those already married and settled.

Cora was grateful that none of these topics of discussion involved her. She could just sit from her place at the head of the table, and listen to whatever it was the girl's wished to debate amongst themselves.

On more than one occasion she'd share a look with Charlotte where they'd wordlessly agree with how ridiculous Ada Merton sounded, or shared in a quiet laugh about Felicity's incessant chewing habits that drove her mad.

It appeared that the two sisters by marriage couldn't be more different than one another, similarly to how different Rosamund and Susan were from one another as well. If Ann hadn't told her of the relation, Cora wasn't sure she could figure it out on her own.

Finally, the discussion worked its way back to her, and she felt the teacup tremble ever so slightly in her hand.

"Tell me, are more of your friends joining us this season?" Felicity, who was seated directly to Cora's left, asked with an air of curiosity.

"Oh yes," Rosamund chimed in, leaning forward from farther down the table to catch Cora's eyes, "I should so like to meet them."

"Well…" Cora began uncertainly, shooting a look at Ann who seemed to be thinking over the question as well, "…I don't believe so. Do you know, Ann?"

She shrugged, "I think everyone we know has either made the crossing or isn't brave enough to try."

"It doesn't seem like there is a shortage of bravery in America," Susan commented in her brittle tone.

Smiling at the complimentary words, Cora lifted her shoulders and replied modestly, "Oh it was only just a week spent on a ship."

"Yes Susan," Ada Merton huffed with an air off annoyance, "let's not make it out to be like Miss. Levinson is some kind of adventurer." She smirked over at Cora and added with a slight jerk of her head, "I'm sure she's no more exciting than the rest of us."

The injury her words inflicted were mild, but her resentful tone cut Cora deeper than she'd ever admit to anyone. She felt something shift inside of her, and before she could bite her tongue, the words were already rolling off in a mocking voice.

"If you prick us, do we not bleed?" She glanced over at Ann, who snorted in understanding to her remark. "Last time I checked," She regarded Lady Merton over her teacup, "if you prick me, I will bleed, Lady Merton."

Rosamund snickered at this behind her hand, and even Charlotte let out a shrill giggle before biting on her bottom lip.

Felicity frowned and furrowed her brow, not comprehending, whereas Susan must not have heard for her face was focused on the plate before her.

Cora felt Ann's foot kick hers from beneath the table, her muted grin of approval curving her lips.

The only one who was clearly unimpressed by the remark was Lady Merton. She glowered from her place at the table, and Cora felt the satisfied smirk dissolve from her lips. Her confidence wavered as she kept Ada Merton's dark gaze, refusing to look away, but feeling a sense of dread. Like she was staring into the eyes of a predator, deciding whether or not to pursue her prey any farther.

Once the amusement died down, the room was left with nothing but tense silence.

Luckily, Lady Rosamund was accustomed to such awkward moments for she explained, "It's a pun on Shakespeare, Lady Merton. The Merchant of Venice?"

"I know what it is!" Ada snapped, startling everyone about the table with her outright iciness. Directing her attention back at Cora she went on, "I just don't think it amusing to poke fun at one of the greatest playwright's in our nation's hist-"

"Oh, but I didn't mean-"

"You may not have _meant it_, Miss. Levinson," She interjected pointedly, narrowing her eyes. "But you'll find that we take great pride in the accomplishments of our country, very much like we do our traditions."

"I didn't mean to offend you, Lady Merton," Cora felt her face flushing red at the reproach, shaking her head and trying to appear good natured. "It was merely a joke."

"It's not your _joke_, that offends me, Miss. Levinson. But rather, your whole manner of being." She spat back irritably, sitting up, on the edge of her seat.

Frowning, Cora echoed, "I beg your pardon?"

"Why are you _here_ exactly?" Ada Merton challenged.

It prompted her heart to race rapidly. Her face felt incredibly hot, and her mouth went dry. But she swallowed and blinked, regaining her composure long enough to answer evenly, "To enjoy the London Season."

"No. Why are you _really_ here? To become the next Duchess of Marlborough? Or the next Lady Ann Spenser? To seduce some helpless chap down on his luck into marrying you like they all did?"

"Ada, I think you ought to remember who your host is," Susan warned.

"I can remember just fine, thank you. Just as I remember when..." Her voice faltered her, and some emotion overtook her that stunned everyone into another form of silence. This time it was an uncomfortable quiet of revelation as the cracks in Ada Merton's otherwise steely exterior slowly began to shine through.

Shaking her head, to shake off whatever thoughts possessed her, she finished in her acidic manner, "You'll forgive me, Miss. Levinson, for not putting on pretenses like everyone else in this room and pretending to enjoy your company. It is not in my nature to be something I am not. And I will not allow some _Jewish American Princess_ who flashes her father's fortune without any regard for-"

"You snobbish..."

"...bitch." Ann growled, inciting several gasps of immense shock and horror from around the table.

The fire in Cora's heart burned white hot, but nothing she felt could compare to the singular word that had burst forth from Ann Spenser's mouth at that very moment. Or to the scandal and unrest that would follow them throughout those first weeks of the season.

* * *

She'd apologize to Lady Merton if their paths did cross again. There was no profit in her making enemies, even if she was the instigator. She simply couldn't afford to give her anymore ammunition to throw at her than she already had. Even though she hadn't delivered the insult, her mere connection to Ann risked a great deal. Or so, she was led to believe.

Shaking off the memory of the luncheon, Cora stopped writing. She'd already said enough, probably too much to include in David's letter. She flexed her fingers, and then massaged her right palm with opposite thumb and forefinger to provide some relief.

She had more important things to discuss before Luce came back to dress her for dinner.

_I apologize for drifting off topic. I'm sure you don't wish to hear me fretting about such minuscule things. Not when you've posed several question_s_ I have yet to answer. _

_Sadly, I haven't had a chance to start up painting again. And I fear Mother's booked our calendars so heavily these next several weeks that a trip to an exhibit might prove impossible. However, if I ever find the time, I shall paint you something. Or tell you all about my trip to one of the galleries, if time doesn't allow the former. And if I am unlucky in both endeavors, perhaps you could visit The Met and tell me all about their improvements &amp; additions? I'm afraid I'll never have a chance to see it again._

_How is your family? I hope well. Are you still appeasing your father by going to synagogue? And your mother by courting a nice, Jewish girl? I hope you don't think me rude for asking, you know it's merely out of jest. And Peter? Is he staying clear of trouble? I'm sure your father cannot wait to send him off to school. Is the shop doing well? I sure hope so. I know Poppa left things rather orderly so I trust you haven't had too much difficulty in taking over. Still, tell me whatever you can to put my mind at ease that all is well._

_I think of you often, David. More often than a young woman in search of a husband probably should. But for now, I hardly think that's a sin. God probably has more dire things to find fault with than with a woman's idle thoughts._

_Write whenever you can to the address in London. From what I understand, we'll be here for quite a while._

_Truly Yours Now,_

_Miss. Cora Levinson_

* * *

_**Ahhh so the first Levinson and Crawley have made contact. What do you think so far?**_


	8. All in the Name of Family

It was a beautiful morning for a stroll in the park. The sun shone brightly at their backs, but hadn't yet rose to a height where its heat could be felt through their heavy clothes. And most of the people who wished to be seen or admired had yet to finish their breakfasts at home, allowing for some of the more private conversations to transpire without fear of unwonted discovery.

Robert was never more grateful for the fact that his sister was an early riser than he was at the present moment. For if Rosamund had decided to laze about, in lieu of accompanying on his morning regimental walk, he might have never heard the details of the Spenser luncheon, or the most unusual events involving the prospective, future, Lady Downton.

He was half listening while they walked about arm in arm along the winding path. His attentions were torn in half by hearing Rosamund prattle on about the nonsensical gossip he could care less about, and the sounds of nature that surrounded him.

It was rather serene to hear birds chirping in the trees, frogs ribbeting by the nearby fountain that trickled water noisily into the pool, and the slow, rhythmic trotting of horses hooves against the gravel pathway that carried the more ambitious young ladies throughout the park. The sounds set him at ease, and reminded him of Downton. Of the life he'd always known and felt most whole in.

How strange it was to think that such a calming place could exist in the middle of a bustling city. Yet, it certainly did, and Robert couldn't be more grateful for it. Hyde Park was one of the few things he found appealing about London, and he was glad to be back among it.

But this buoyant feeling of happiness soon burst whenever a singular word fro Rosamund's caught his attention. Startled rather abruptly from his contemplative reverie, Robert stopped walking, jarring Rosamund to an unexpected halt.

"She said _what_?" Robert questioned in utter disbelief at the climax in Rosamund's story of yesterday's luncheon.

Leaning back enough so he could see her face from beneath the wide brim of her lacy, ice blue parasol, Rosamund arched a brow and insisted plainly, "You heard me."

"I know I heard you," Robert exhaled with mild irritation before resuming his walk again as he went on to explain. "I just find it hard to believe that _a lady_, even one by marriage, could even _know _of such a word, let alone utter it."

"Well if her Papa is anything like ours, I don't know how you could be shocked to learn that, lady or not, women have been hearing such things from the men in their lives for ages." Rosamund insisted, re-affixing her gaze ahead.

She knew he didn't like when she brought up such things that shone Papa in a negative light. But he also knew that she didn't think the tone Papa often took with Mama was appropriate. It was an unspoken topic of debate they long ago decided to agree to disagree upon.

"Yes, but they aren't supposed to repeat such things, are they?" Robert commented carefully, his gaze shifting from the corner of his eye towards his sister.

"I won't disagree with that," Rosamund concurred, leaning more heavily against him. "It _is_ a ghastly word," She grumbled out of disapproval, "and even worse that Ann thought to used it on another woman."

He was glad they weren't going to descent into an argument over this. It would certainly save him from having to whisk Rosamund away from Grantham House to have such a conversation again.

"Well in spite of Ann's choice language," He resounded with a critical edge in his tone on this point prior to admitting rather amusedly, "it sounds as though Ava Merton had it coming."

"Oh she certainly did!" Rosamund practically chuckled at this. Tightening her grip on Robert's arm, she then confided, "She was being exceptionally rude to Miss. Levinson, for no real reason whatsoever. Except for the fact that she was an American."

"And Jewish, no doubt," He supposed.

"Well...she's not..._really_ Jewish," Rosamund informed him.

Knitting his brow together wondered, clearly confused by her wording. "What do you mean _she's not really Jewish_? She doesn't practice, you mean?"

She bobbed her head slowly, "Well not only _that. _But."

There was a distinct pause before Rosamund launched into her fast paced explanation that forced his full concentration, least he be puzzled even more.

"Apparently her father was Jewish and her mother is not. And according to what I learned from Ann at the Winborne wedding, it can only be passed down through the mother. Therefore, because Mrs. Levinson is not of the faith, Miss. Levinson is merely Jewish is name and not in nature."

"That seems rather odd," He remarked without thinking.

"Yes well...I think Christianity can be rather odd at times too," Rosamund shrugged with a noticeable sigh. Shooting him a wry grin, she goaded, "But I'll spare you a sermon on that topic, Brother."

Robert hummed out of amusement, "I'm sure Mr. Travis will hear an earful next time he comes to dinner."

"Perhaps then he'll politely ask Mama to be seated elsewhere then," She sounded rather hopeful that this might be the case, having been placed beside the old vicar the last several times Mama invited him over for dinner.

It was a known fact that Mr. Travis was in search of a wife to fulfill yet another calling he believed God had set before him. And given his position in the village paired with Mama's renewed interest in religion, it seemed Rosamund was a likely candidate.

"You could do worse," Robert told her with a heavy exhalation, tilting his head forward.

"Stop!" She exclaimed rather horrified, smacking his shoulder with his free arm.

"Ow!" He groaned more so out of shock at being hit than actual pain.

But Rosamund ignored him, unlaced her arm from his and stepped in front of him on the path. "Not you too!" She waggled her finger at him before gesturing about rather animatedly with her hands as she spoke in wild tones, "Do you _really_ see me as a minister's wife? And do you _really_ think Mama would approve of such a match?"

Robert noticed another horse toting a young lady approaching them from the opposite direction. He carefully reached for his sister's arm, nodding his head behind her so she realized his desire to keep walking was to avoid any unnecessary accidents that morning.

Pulling her off to the side, he countered lightly, "Mama would approve more of you marrying Travis than me marrying an American."

"But he's so old!" Rosamund scoffed, shaking her head at this injustice. "At least, Miss. Levinson is about your age!"

Mention of Miss. Levinson made his ears perk up again, and he probed, "Did you ask her?"

"Well no, as I didn't see it as being polite. But she went out during the New York season last year. So..." Her voice trailed off and she shrugged.

He supposed it didn't matter all that much. Nothing more than a minuscule detail in the grander scheme of their plan. Still, it would certainly help if Miss. Levinson was an attractive woman. Robert opened his mouth to inquire to this point whenever Rosamund broke through the lull in their conversation.

"I can't believe Mama is seriously considering marrying me off to Travis!" She fumed out of indignation. "I mean, how can she think it's a good idea?!"

He paused an adequate amount of time to give his sister the validation of him giving her question some thought. But then a wicked grin splayed across his mouth and he couldn't help but chide, "Perhaps she's thinking having a vicar in the family would save all of our souls from eternal damnation."

"Well I can assure you, _hers_ won't be saved if she forces me to marry Travis." Rosamund retorted rather bitterly.

Robert felt his arm jerk while she straightened her shoulders, and lifted her head higher with decision. "And I'm sure God would be more interested in hearing what a vicar's wife would have to say over that of the Countess of Grantham," She finished in a mocking tone.

"Has he asked you then?" Robert wondered cautiously.

Hearing a deep felt exhalation from his sister, she answered, "Only for the _second_ time."

"And have you given him an answer?" He was genuinely curious.

"I told him I would by the end of the season," She informed him plainly.

"And..." He paused, wondering whether or not his question would incite another outburst. When she shot him a curious look from beneath the hood of her parasol, he finished his inquiry. "What does Mama say?"

Luckily, Rosamund merely glanced forward again as she drawled on, "Mama thinks that unless I receive a better offer by August, then I ought to accept poor, old Travis. Else I _run the risk of becoming an old maid_."

He snorted at her imitation of their mother just now, and even heard a shrill giggle escape her throat as well. Casting a glance over at her, he noticed the wry smirk splaying at her lips, and took the opportunity to tease.

"Don't worry Rosamund. Miss. Levinson and I will look after you at Downton if that happens," He nudged her in the ribs, forcing more incredulous laughter from her.

"You're getting ahead of yourself, brother dear," Rosamund taunted back rather playfully. "What if, she takes one look at you and thinks, my god what a big head he's got! Am I really going to have to push that out of me one day?"

"Rosamund!" He felt his cheeks redden at her insinuation, torn between feeling embarrassed and amused. Rosamund apparently felt pleased with her little quip as she laughed lowly. Shaking his head but unable to stifle the smile forming, he told her rather incredulously, "Mama would have fainted if she heard you just now!"

"Luckily, she's not here then." His sister beamed back, reminding him rather smartly, "For my _vulgar remark_ wouldn't be the _only thing_ she took issue with, now would it?"

Robert inhaled before slowly releasing a steadying breath at this thought. So far, they had been able to keep Mama in the dark about their plan to woo Miss. Levinson. And because of this, everything remained calm and in balance. However, Robert knew their position was a precarious one, and could rapidly change should Mama uncover their plans.

Shaking off the impending dread these thoughts filled him with, Robert shifted the course of their discussion, "Tell me, what's she like?"

Rosamund arched a brow and asked, "Miss. Levinson?"

"No, Mamma!" Robert cocked his head to the side, dispelling an incredulous breath. Chortling he nodded, "Yes, Miss. Levinson! Who else?"

Rosamund tilted her head from side to side as if thinking through his question. "Well...to be honest," She turned her face up towards his, "she seemed completely terrified out of her wits until we got to talking. And even then, she really didn't have much to say. Except of course, for the bit at the end with Ava Merton."

He considered this before asking, "So what you're saying is she's rather…timid?"

Rosamund frowned, her eyes lined with contemplation, "Well I don't know really."

"How can you not know?" Robert echoed with an air of skepticism.

"Robert, I spent no more than an hour in her presence, and even then, we were with six other ladies." Rosamund replied a bit defensively, "How do expect me to make a _fair_ assessment of her given all of that?"

He exhaled rather irritably, knowing she was right. Anytime a group of ladies got together, it was as James had suggested, a brood of hens clucking their tongues nonsensically. He supposed he should take note of Miss. Levinson's silence as a welcoming quality. At least, he'd be able to say his bit to her or coax their conversations along, if she was shy as Rosamund seemed to believe.

After a moment's pause he probed, "Can you at least tell me what she looks like?"

"I can," She smiled, and paused. Apparently she was rather pleased to hold onto the information he so desperately wanted.

Rolling his eyes at her, he bumped his hip into hers and grumbled, "Might you get it on with it then?"

"Well...she's rather..." Rosamund pursed her lips together, twisting them off to the side as a faraway look crossed her eyes.

For a split second his stomach knotted and his heart quickened. Suppose she was unattractive? Not that it was important, but having a handsome wife would make things easier.

Finally, Rosamund seemed to have conjured up an image in her mind's eye for she glanced at him and decided, "You know who she bears a strong resemblance to?"

"Who?" Now this would make crafting a picture in his mind far easier.

"Why, none other than your dear friend, Lady Winborne," Rosamund crooned appreciatively.

His heart rose to the back of his throat, his breathing becoming more labored. Robert's mind spun a bit, and he thought for an instant he might lose consciousness at Rosamund's unexpected revelation.

When he finally calmed down, Robert cleared his throat and insisted, "She's not a dear friend of mine. Not anymore."

"Right, of course. Now that she's married, she can nothing more than an acquaintance to you." Rosamund nodded in agreement, her tone taking on a mocking air as she went on about proper social conventions.

So she didn't mean anything out of the ordinary with her distinct wording. He relaxed a bit, and replied, "Yes, that's right. Well uh…at least it sounds as though Miss. Levinson has a handsome figure."

"Although" Rosamund interjected, squinting up at him studiously, "it's more or less the features that are the same than the figure. Where Lady Winborne is stout, Miss. Levinson is tall. And where Lady Winborne is rounder, Miss. Levinson is slim. But then again, we were all in suits." She shrugged, looking off into the distance. "I'm sure evening wear will give you a better idea. And most certainly, a better view of _certain things_," Her lips broke into a grin, eyes darting towards the corner of her eyes to witness the reaction her words might stir in him.

Robert rolled his eyes and resounded his slight disapproval, "Must you be so blunt about it all?"

"You know, it must be so exhausting to always play the part of a saint." Rosamund jabbed coyly, "Perhaps you ought to just leave Eden already and join the rest of us mere mortals?"

Oh, but he had left that seemingly perfect garden ages ago. Still, he pretended like her words didn't stir up those images that reminded him of his fall from grace. Or that he wasn't suddenly inhaling the most fragrant scent of rosewater. There was a stirring in the depths of his belly, one he really could do without at present.

Forcing those thoughts away, he quickly changed the subject. "Did you at least find out if she's coming with Ann to the ball on Saturday?"

"Yes. She is." Rosamund answered before adding cheerily, "And I've already told her to look out for me."

"What?" He turned to face her, his brow shooting up. "Why would you think to do that?"

She frowned and retorted, "Oh I don't know, perhaps because you might not recognize someone you've never met before?"

"Didn't you stop and think perhaps that you're going to be by Mama's side all evening?" Robert reminded her sternly. "And that it might be rather curious for you to point out Miss. Levinson to Papa and I, in front of her? Did you not think that, perhaps I could find Ann Spenser on her arrival, on my own, and then have her introduce us then?"

"Robert," Rosamund argued, tilting her head to the side, "how many secrets have you been able to keep from Mama over your twenty years? Truly?"

She did have a point. Like it or not, Mama seemed to always be in the know. And if she wasn't, it didn't take long for her to uncover the truth of the matter. She was rather observant and tenacious in that regard. Two qualities that had largely served in the family's best interests, even if her children didn't always believe it.

"You _really_ don't think she's going to notice what's going on when you start dancing with Miss. Levinson at every ball the both of you attend? Or that she won't ask questions when you're talking with her in public? Or going on outings with her and her mother?"

"I know she'll find out." That was unavoidable. "But I just have to win Miss. Levinson over before she does."

Rosamund creased her brow and remarked skeptically, "That still doesn't give you much time."

"Not if you don't help me," He inclined his head, flashing a sheepish grin before linking his arm through hers again.

"The things one does for family," Rosamund sighed dramatically, winking at him.

* * *

**_Just a short follow up to the previous chapter! Let me know what you think when you have the time :)_**


	9. Becoming Acquainted

The low murmurs of intimate conversations between groups amounted to a noisy buzz that made Cora feel as though she stepped into a beehive. The room was longer than it was wide with floor to ceiling windows lining the right wall, the left draped with crimson curtains, reminiscent of those found on the stage in a theatre house. Five or six brass chandeliers dripped with glimmering crystals and hung strategically from the ceiling, candles burning brightly from the scones.

Cora was shocked by how crowded the ballroom already was, and how the room could allow for such an audience given that the MacDonald London home only occupied half a city block.

As Lady Spenser told both her and her mother, the MacDonald's affairs were generally "open," events.

_'Mind you there won't be any riffraff popping in,' Lady Spenser assured her mother when Martha fought against the idea that the Levinson's were somehow only worthy of _these _types of parties. 'Anyone with the right connections can certainly _buy _their way in. I wouldn't worry though, with a daughter like Cora, you'll be welcomed right into the fold straightaway.'_

Martha had taken that slight as well as she could. However, Cora could see the obvious cracks that shone through her mother's genial expression. She saw just how much it pained her to smile at a woman like Lady Spenser. A lady who only took them in at the insistence of her daughter-in-law, and to fulfill her desire to flaunt her "American connections" to those in her social circles who might feel a pang of jealousy at this newly formed friendship.

She was slowly beginning to see that it worked both ways. They hated her. They loved her. But only deciding when it was convenient for them. Even if she was ignorant on the particular rhyme or reason behind their opinions of her, she feigned knowing. As far as she was concerned, it was the only way she was to survive this summer.

"Do you think Lady Merton will be here?" Cora leaned forward to whisper into Ann's ear once they found a place near the door leading out to a terrace that let in the cool, night air.

"Of course, she will." Her husband, Freddie Spenser, turned to inform her with a charming smile that reached his brown sugar colored eyes, "_Everyone_ will be here."

_Perfect_, Cora thought anxiously, chewing on her bottom lip.

Ann must have read her silence as nervousness for she linked her free arm with Cora's and leaned in to mutter, "Don't worry. Freddie with take at least two dances with you. And he has _plenty _of friends..."

Cora mustered a shaky smile, trying to appear more excited than restless. As her eyes scanned the throngs of people, she noticed how everyone appeared to be so at ease. The ladies fluttered their fans with a graceful fludity, smiled wryly up at their companions, and carried themselves throughout the room as though they were gliding on ice.

Not only that, but they were moving from group to group, in pairs or flocks, embracing everyone and proffering kisses at both cheeks. They knew everyone, and everything. It reminded her of New York. Of last time she tried to fit in with this lot, or a similar lot to this one, and she felt like she might be sick.

Cora flipped open her lavender lace trimmed fan, and started fanning herself rather frantically in order to dispel the heat that rose in her cheeks. Her breath came in and out more rapidly, and she jumped when a hand came into contact with her silken clad forearm.

She turned to her left, and saw her mother's face etched with concern.

"Breathe my dear," She urged through tersely drawn lips, running a soothing hand over her arm. "We have a long night ahead of us," Martha patted her shoulder.

Cora nodded, flapping her fan harder, and trying to breathe through the ball of nerves that pulsated through the pit of her stomach with every beat of her heart. Had Lucy tied her corset tighter than usual? The lace ruffle of her neckline felt lower now than when she had originally stepped into the dress. She felt very hot, and was sure her cheeks were flushed a rather brazen shade of rogue.

But she didn't have time to allow her thoughts seize hold of her to the point of paralysis. Freddie Spenser was neatly passing out programs for the evening's lineup, and then affixing a dance card around her wrist.

"Miss. Levinson," He inclined his head toward her, and then her mother, a mischievous grin splaying at his lips, "I hope you don't mind, I took the liberty of marking myself down for two turns this evening."

Cora flipped open the small book briefly, seeing that Freddie thought to pencil himself in for the second dance of the evening, a two-step, and then the first waltz following the brief intermission. Still, she felt her heart hammer when she recognized the significant number of blank pages that spread out between the two lines.

"Miss. Levinson?" He probed again, forcing her attention back to the present.

With a slight shake of her head, Cora assured, "No, I don't mind."

She felt Ann pulling her arm closer, examining her husband's choices for their dances. "Well that's a good start!" She smiled reassuringly at Cora, her long, dark curls bouncing lightly across the back of her neck as she nodded.

Cora smiled and inclined her head in agreement. She wasn't sure she quite believed Ann just yet, but she'd certainly do her best to pretend.

* * *

The room was maddeningly hot. And of course Mama aimed them in the center of the room, so both her children might receive only the best invitations to dance from those bold enough to push their way into the semi-circle of bodies moving about the main floor.

Robert resisted the urge to tug at his collar for it would no doubt prompt a glare or a brief scolding from his mother, who was shooting him curious looks in between arranging dances with Rosamund. So he stood there smiling, shifting from one foot to the next while he tried to see beyond the sea of gentleman who were all swarming around Rosamund and the few other young women, who were just presented this year.

A few young ladies made eye contact with him as they passed by on the floor. Lady Felicity Wren being one of them, who was desperate to waltz up to him to secure a place on her dance card. He was happy to oblige, if it meant keeping away from Mama.

"Take your pick, Lord Downton," She offered cheerily, turning over her wrist. "But if you remember correctly, I'm quite difficult to keep up with on the quick ones."

"Yes, I do recall, Lady Felicity," Robert chuckled lightly, thinking back to the terrible stunted gallop they had attempted last season. She had been insistent on leading, and the end result had been a bit disastrous.

He decided upon a waltz, a selection that made her grin even broader, a glimmer of excitement pervading her gaze. "How delightful, I'll look forward to it."

Robert nodded and was about to turn away whenever she spoke up again, "Oh, Lord Downton, may I introduce you to a dear friend of mine? Lady Charlotte Spenser."

She pushed the young blonde with soft brown eyes forward. She was clad in a shimmering orange gown trimmed with rose colored feathers that also stuck in her ornately coiled hair.

"Spenser?" He blinked, wondering if there was a connection.

"Yes," Felicity Wren informed him. "I believe you met her sister-in-law, Lady Ann, at the Winborne wedding?"

"Oh right, yes, of course," Robert bobbed his head, his gaze settling on Lady Charlotte. He bowed his head a bit, and extended his hand for her to take, "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance Lady Charlotte."

Her pale cheeks flooded with a rosy tint that matched the feathers adorning her outfit, and she dipped her face forward before murmuring quietly, "The pleasure is all mine Lord Downton."

When she lifted her face again, Robert saw a shy smile twitching at her lips, and instantly he was aware of how lovely the young girl appeared to be.

"This is Lady Charlotte's first season, Lord Downton," Felicity Wren went on a bit more enthusiastically than was usual.

Robert inclined his head before remarking conversationally, "Well…I'm sure you have a full dance card already, Lady Charlotte. Tell me Lady Felicity is…"

"Actually," Lady Charlotte intoned, stealing his gaze away from the other blonde's attention. "I'm sure I could…make some room…" She muttered rather bashfully, flipping open the booklet at her wrist. "That is, if _you_ aren't otherwise engaged, Lord Downton."

He was surprised by her forwardness on the matter. She didn't appear to be one of those strong willed girls. And yet, he couldn't rightly refuse her without offending her, or worse slighting the Spenser's. It could throw a wrench into his plans. Besides, they didn't have to approach one another again if they didn't wish to.

So, once he got over the shock of _her_ asking _him_ to dance, Robert brought his hands out to either side, and flashed an accommodating smile. "I'd be delighted to dance with, Lady Charlotte. How about a gallop?" He briefly scanned over the blank spaces to see both of those had been filled already. Seeing a blank line towards the end of the evening, he cast a sideways glance up at her waiting face and suggested, "Or the cotillion, since I see you're otherwise occupied?"

She nodded in agreement, and he scrawled his name rather messily. But when he stood to full height again, he caught her staring at the script with a warm smile that suggested she didn't seem to mind.

* * *

By the time she reached eleven signatures on her dance card, Cora felt herself more relaxed than before. Thanks to the already established connections Ann had made through her marriage to Freddie, it appeared she wouldn't be a wallflower this evening after all.

The intense beating of her fan subsided a bit, and she felt the tightened coil in her stomach unravel at this thought. But the nerves still rattled around inside of her at the thought of having to spend time alone with each of these gentlemen.

Some of them weren't much to look at, but boasted grandiose estates or properties. Others were exceptionally handsome, and charming enough to make her giggle. Two were old enough to be her father and recently widowed, clearly looking for companionship or an heir to save their livelihood before they were gone.

Still, no matter who they were, what they looked like, or whatever their intentions may be, Cora headed her mother's advice, which must have come from some book she'd read.

_A lady may only decline an invitation to dance if she's otherwise engaged or not looking to dance for the remainder of the evening._

And Martha had instructed her before they left that she was supposed to dance for as long as the orchestra was playing, so there was really no room for her to refuse any offers. She was at a disadvantage of not being presented like the rest of the ladies coming out this season, and needed all the help she could get.

In spite of this limitation, Cora did take some pleasure in knowing that she didn't have to approach any of these gentlemen after their promised dance. There was little comfort in knowing she did have some semblance of a choice in the matter. Although, she was sure she'd hear many lectures and opinions tossed about by her mother, who would want to influence her decisions on whom she saw again and whom she'd cast aside.

But there was still time before any real decisions needed to be made.

She glanced about the room, catching Lord Flintshire's eye again from across the room. He was standing close by to Lady Susan Browning, the cousin of Lady Rosamund Crawley. He only appeared half interested in their conversation, but Cora offered a polite smile anyway before looking away swiftly to hide behind her moving fan.

He recently came to inherit a castle in the Scottish Highlands, and she knew he was her mother's first choice to date. He was a few years older, and seemed interested enough just from their brief exchange. However, he was one of the season's most eligible bachelor's, so it was rather unlikely he'd select _her_ above all those other girls, who could fill the role of Marchioness more easily.

Even so, they agreed upon a waltz, and based on his faraway glance, Cora dared to think perhaps he was looking forward to it.

But at that very moment, she was stolen from these thoughts when she found a pair of steel blue eyes staring at her rather intently from the other side of Ann. Her stomach somersaulted at this realization, and she wondered just how long this stranger had been watching her.

She lowered her gaze again before she too, could be accused of staring back at him. Not that it was a crime, but in her opinion it was a bit unsettling to stare at someone before you properly knew them. With her eyes focused on the shoes of those passing by, Cora was able to catch snippets of this newly arrived gentleman's conversation with Freddie and Ann Spenser.

"I hear you have guests this summer," He noted with an air of intrigue.

"Oh yes, I'm sorry, how terribly rude of me," Ann lamented dramatically.

"Mrs. Levinson!" She called out, and Cora felt her mother flutter away from her left side and towards Ann's smooth, congenial tone she adopted in these instances, "May I present Lord Downton? Lord Downton, this is Mrs. Martha Levinson from Newport."

Cora looked up cautiously from the corner of her eye, remaining close behind her mother's skirts, yet anticipating another introduction. It had become something of an art form by now.

Ann or Freddie would introduce her mother to their latest acquaintance; Momma would make a quip about how they weren't _really_ from Newport, but New York, and before that Cincinnati. Sometimes the gentlemen would chuckle out of amusement, other times she'd draw a blank stare from them. In either case, they really had no idea where the Levinson's came from, beyond anything Martha or Cora told them.

But it didn't really matter. For as soon as they learned her father dealt in dry goods, had recently passed, and sold his business to another prominent family (the Adelberg's), they seemed rather interested in whether or not Miss. Levinson had too much empty space on her dance card.

And sometime before, after, or in between all of that, Martha would gush rather proudly: "Allow me to introduce my darling daughter, Miss. Cora Levinson."

Cora turned at once to face the latecomer to their group, extended her hand and bent her head forward in a steady, practiced motion.

"Lord Downton," Cora murmured genially enough before glancing back up at him with a cautious half smile.

"Miss. Levinson," He returned just as cordially, his smile crinkling the corner of his eyes, and sending her heart into an unexpected frenzy. "I wonder if you might do me the honor of allowing me a dance this evening?"

Her smile deepened automatically at the words she'd been hearing all evening in various forms. Offering in her effortlessly demure tone, she replied, "The honor is all mine, Lord Downton." Extending her arm, she watched him take hold of her dance card.

"Gracious," His eyes widened momentarily while he studied the pages.

Arching a brow at this, Cora tilted her head to the side, and thought to ask softly, "Is something wrong?"

"No," He assured with a slight shake of his head. "No, I just...don't appear to have many options, now do I?" He mused, lifting his face a fraction so she could catch the teasing in his expression.

Cora blinked back at him for a moment, not expecting this deviation from the otherwise carefully chartered conversation she'd been traveling all evening. Glancing over at her mother for a split second, she watched Momma's mouth part to offer some sort of comment on this, whenever Cora felt an unfiltered response of her own rise from within her.

"Well...you know what they say, Lord Downton. The early bird catches the worm." She chuckled nervously, hoping he might find some amusement there.

His face however, was bent low over her dance card while he took great care in leaving his name, and all Cora swore she could hear was a hum of low agreement from him. "Hmm…"

It suddenly felt hotter in the room again, and she immediately passed her fan to her other hand. It swished open in a single motion, and she set about fanning herself rather determinedly once more.

"Oh Cora, how clever you are!" Ann suddenly exclaimed, a trill of laughter escaping her throat.

"Yes," Martha drawled on a bit awkwardly, a tense smile creased her lips. "You'll find my daughter has a rather_, unique_ sense of humor, Lord Downton."

When he stood to full height again, Lord Downton's eyes darted between the pair of them, his mouth twitching up at the corners. "I'm sure," He told her mother before inclining his head in Cora's direction. "I look forward to our dance, Miss. Levinson. If you'll excuse me, I must return to my family."

"Yes of course," Cora remarked more assuredly than she felt.

Once he turned sharply on his heel to leave, she sighed heavily, and closed her eyes, taking in the sound of Ann's amused laughter, and her mother's quiet criticism of, _why on Earth would you say such a foolish thing?_

Cora racked her brain for a response, soon discovering that she couldn't think of an adequate defense.

* * *

As the announcements for the first dance of the evening were made, Rosamund latched onto Robert's arm, steering him to an empty place on the floor, as far away from Mamma as space would allow.

"So…" She peered up at him with a curious smile, probing, "…did you find _our_ Miss. Levinson?"

He resisted the urge to chastise her for her presumptuous language, and instead, informed her plainly, "I did."

"And?" Rosamund asked, pulling on his arm.

He glanced down to find her head was tilted to the other side, and there was that lilt of intrigue evident in her voice. He let out an exasperated sigh of, _'We're dancing the quadrille,'_ hoping it would curb her curiosity.

Unfortunately for him, her brow shot up to the middle of her forehead and she echoed out of surprise, "Not a waltz?"

"She was otherwise occupied," Robert grumbled with a roll of his eyes, positioning them towards the inner circle of the dance floor.

Rosamund placed one hand on his shoulder, the other one clasped in his hand. Angling her face back, she inquired with a slight frown, "During all of them?"

"Shockingly, yes." He replied with a slight inclination of his head as he held his sister's hand and waist.

There was some relief in knowing he wasn't the only one who found Miss. Levinson's popularity during the premiere event of the season rather shocking. After all, she wasn't presented like the rest of the debutantes, and so he had thought perhaps, his chances were quite good in standing out to her among his peers. Judging by the influx of dance requests on her card however, this didn't appear to be the reality of their situation. With this realization, Robert felt a wave of self-consciousness roll through him.

"Sounds as though you have your work cut out for you," Rosamund remarked a bit glumly.

Rolling his eyes again, this time out of mild annoyance, Robert replied, "Don't I know it."

"Especially since," He looked down at his sister, whose eyes flickered with keen interest as she informed him plainly, "she's dancing with the newly established Duke of Cheshire."

"What?" Robert's eyes widened, and he felt his stomach drop a bit. "Now?" Rosamund slowly bobbed her head, and Robert couldn't help but turn his head from side to side, "Where are...?"

"Turn me round," She instructed lowly, jerking her head towards the left. "Slowly now."

Robert carefully adjusted their position on the dance floor, eyes darting from the couples immediately surrounding them before casting his gaze farther out in search of Miss. Levinson. And then somewhere a few yards away, he found her. Nestled in between a brunette dressed in canary yellow, and a blonde in a pale blue gown, she stood, or rather hung, on the Duke of Cheshire's arm.

She tossed back her head to laugh, revealing a long curving neck that he hadn't noticed before. And it was at this very moment, he came to understand Rosamund's assessment of her from the luncheon, and Robert could feel his heartbeat quicken its pace.

Her neck was long, adorned with shimmering stones, and attached to a set of broad shoulders that peeked up from beneath the grey lace that trimmed the low dipping neckline of her lavender gown. She appeared much taller than he was accustomed, yet he didn't recall her coming up too high on him when they stood before one another just a few moments ago. And her figure was certainly slimmer than he desired, but there was something graceful about its elongation that made him study her longer than he otherwise normally would.

Perhaps it was the shape of her gown. And her hair, piled on top of her head, a glittering comb threaded through one side. There were also stones hanging from her ears, another seemingly subtle tell of her wealth. But he decided this look suited her, in spite of it deviating from the dress he was accustomed to seeing in girls his own age.

He hadn't realized just how long he'd been staring at her, until he felt Rosamund shaking his hand that was in hers, her tone sharpening out of annoyance once the quartet began strumming the opening number.

"Robert!"

His eyes snapped back onto hers, remembering their surroundings while she teased, "Are you going to gawk at Miss. Levinson all evening from across the crowded ballroom? Or are we to dance?"

"I wasn't gawking!" He retorted swiftly, his burning hot with embarrassment at being discovered like this.

Rosamund rolled her eyes, and remarked, clearly unconvinced, "Of course not, brother dear."

Glancing around at the couples spinning around them, Robert waited until an opening came towards them, and he expertly situated them in place with the rest of the dancers. And with that, their brief disagreement ended, and the first dance of the season begun.

* * *

She silently thanked Lady Spenser for suggesting they settled in the chairs by the open terrace doors whenever she returned from the dance floor. The reprieves in between dances were practically nonexistent, and the intermission had ended far more quickly than Cora liked. And after the rather awkward gallop with Lord Flintshire, she'd never been more grateful for a blank space on her card.

Once the quick polka ended, she finally found her heart returning its normal pacing. The back of her neck felt cooler, and she glanced in one of the hanging mirrors on a nearby wall to see her cheeks weren't aflame from overexertion.

Taking in a deep breath before exhaling slowly, she was rather surprised whenever a familiar pair of light eyes were reflecting back at hers in the glass.

"Miss. Levinson?"

"Hmmm?" She whirled around, arching a brow in question whenever she recognized one of the men who had asked her to dance earlier. Chewing on her bottom lip, she racked her brain to remember his name. "Oh!" Her eyes lit up while she fumbled for the answer dangling from her wrist, "uhm...Lord..." Her eyes flickered down, searching for his tidy print beside the number eighteen, "...Downton?" She glanced up at him, dropping her wrist swiftly and batting her eyelashes in time with her fan in order to save face. "Is it time already?"

"Yes, in fact it is," He inclined his head towards her, managing some kind of smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, unlike the last time.

"Goodness," She remarked in best breathless tone, fanning herself a bit dramatically while she added, "how time flies."

"Yes..." He trailed off, his eyes narrowing as though searching for the rest of his response, "...when one's having fun?"

Cora tilted her head to the side, smiling a bit at his attempt to be witty.

"Isn't that what they say?" He asked a bit frantically, his brow raised.

She nodded, her smile deepening to assuage his obvious nervousness, "Something like that."

"Anyway..." He shrugged, gesturing towards the dance floor, "shall we?"

He lifted his arm for her to take, and she looped hers through his. Grinning up at him, Cora instructed softly, "Lead the way."

They started across the floor, and she cast a glance over her shoulder to ensure that her mother saw the direction they were headed. Martha inclined her head approvingly before turning back to say something to one of the ladies she met through Lady Spenser.

"I hope you don't mind," Lord Downton spoke up suddenly, and Cora turned to look at him once more while he explained, "but I've arranged for us to dance with a few acquaintances of mine. It tends to make these things less awkward."

She snorted, "Perhaps less awkward _for_ _you_. I'm afraid I won't know the difference."

Instantly biting down on her tongue, Cora regretted the words that came out before she could stop them. It was almost like her mind and her mouth were working against one another in his presence for some odd reason. She hadn't experienced this with any of the other gentlemen this evening. Still, she forced out a nervous chuckle, and smiled at Lord Downton, wishing he didn't take offense by her slightly cavalier tone.

"No?" He echoed, sounding a bit amused by her statement. "Well...here's hoping we can change that for your sake," He flashed a smile before nodding towards the group he was referring to.

"Miss. Levinson!" Came an enthused greeting from non other than Lady Rosamund Crawley.

"Lady Rosamund," Cora returned just as excitedly, embracing her briefly and kissing both cheeks. She swallowed the impulse to ask, _what are you doing here? _And instead, replaced it with, "How good it is to see you!"

"You as well, dear." Rosamund smiled before gesturing over towards Susan, "You remember Lady Susan, my cousin?"

"Yes, of course, hello again."

"Lovely to see you, Miss. Levinson," Susan reached for Cora's hands, and squeezed them tightly before greeting her with mild affection.

Once the brief introductions of the other gentlemen were made, Ann and Freddie had joined their party as well.

"We thought you might be feel more at ease this turn around the floor with a few familiar faces," Rosamund informed her proudly.

It certainly appeared as though they were all suddenly very concerned with her comfort during this dance. She didn't understand why, but it felt nice to be around people she'd been acquainted with, so she tried not to question it too critically.

So she bobbed her head towards Rosamund and offered appreciatively, "Well that's very thoughtful, thank you."

"Oh don't thank me," Rosamund corrected lightly before boasting. "It was all Robert's idea."

Cora frowned, her brow furrowing at her choice of informality. Something struck deep inside of her, and she couldn't help but wonder, "Robert's?"

"Forgive me," Rosamund shook her head, "_Lord Downton._ If we must insist upon formality." She rolled her eyes at this thought, and Cora mustered a half hearted laugh.

"I think we must insist upon it in this instance, _Lady_ Rosamund." Was Lord Downton's rather terse reply.

Cora couldn't help but glance between the two of them, and recognize that an unspoken agreement existed. Had she been alone with Lady Rosamund, she might think to question it. But as it were, there were too many people around for some sort of inquiry to be made.

Besides, the quartet's instruments were at the ready, and Cora had no other choice but to situate herself between her dance partner and another man, offering up a hand to each of them. There would still be time to ask if she cared enough to do so in the coming days. And even though she told herself she didn't care enough to ask Lady Rosamund, Cora's gaze kept flickering rather curiously between Lord Downton's and Lady Rosamund's dancing forms when she was at the resting position in the dance.

* * *

_**So sorry this took far longer than I expected! I really hope it's ok, for some reason this was probably the most challenging chapter for me to date. Hopefully it gets easier? Anyway, this week is kind of hectic for me, so I don't know if I'll have an update again until next week some time. But hopefully this was sufficient enough to hold you over until then. I appreciate everyone's words of encouragement, intrigue, and support thus far. It truly means a lot! Also if there are any glaring inconsistence, minor tweaks, or things you feel need explained more, feel free to let me know. I'm open to constructive criticism if you have any to offer :)**_


	10. Fair Interest

_**Alright so this is long overdue. I hope it was worth the wait. We're progressing with the courtship now, so get excited for more Cobert scenes! Yaya! As always, thank you for all of your support with this thus far! If you have the time, reviews/comments/critiques/etc are appreciated. Thanks again, and enjoy!**_

* * *

There was a square patch of green land in the back of Grantham House that closely resembled what one might consider a private garden. It wasn't much. There was nothing more than a perimeter of sculpted, tall bushes, and a few cedar trees that enclosed the space. Rows of blossoming bushes and flowers, were arranged along a narrow gravel path that serpentined in the shape of an oblong, number eight. The various yellow, pink, and purple blooms that sprouted up among the greenery made for a lovely view from one of the benches that resided in the far right corner of the yard.

But amidst all of the controlled chaos of the season that dictated the Crawley's day to day activities, this tiny yard was the one place where any of them might find time to be alone. It was far enough away from the rest of the house where one might find a slice of peace among the cacophony of the city. And quiet seclusion was precisely what Robert required on this particular afternoon.

His mother hadn't stopped to take a breath all morning. On top of chastising the new staff for not doing things _the Crawley way_ and trying to discourage Rosamund from a well to do banker who had caught her eye at the MacDonald's, she was peppering him with questions on the every detail concerning each girl he had danced or dined with to date.

_Could she carry a conversation while dancing? Where did she come from? Did she know anyone we do? Did they know of her? What did she intend to do to pass the time? Has anyone else caught your eye besides her? Were her manners in order? Her fingernails clean? Her smile nice enough to look at? Did she give you her calling card?_

They were the same questions he'd been hearing for two years now. And for two years, his answers carried on a sort of variance that led her to believe that the girls from the present year were as equally intriguing as the ones from the previous year. Of course, they weren't. But his tactic of simply telling his mother what she wished to hear had prolonged his bachelordom and protected him unwanted marriage thus far.

However, Robert knew he couldn't play by those same rules as he had in years past. The overall premise of the game had changed with the knowledge that they could lose Downton forever should he fail in his endeavor of securing Miss. Levinson's fortune.

He sat on the bench in the far corner of the garden, leafing through one of the almanac's from the library. His thoughts circled back to the dark haired beauty with whom he had the briefest of pleasures dancing with the other night.

She _was_ different. The cadence of her speech was smooth yet assured as she mastered the intricate steps of their dance. She spoke of the various cities where she lived in the New World. They were of course, places he knew nothing about, save for the brief details she relayed to him during the course of the song. And in spite of these foreign, faraway places she hailed from, she nearly carried herself like a proper young lady.

Her connections were few and far in between as was to be expected. Yet, she already forged meaningful alliances it seemed with Rosamund and Susan, and even the Spenser's. None of it would be enough to convince Mama. But for now, it was enough to convince him that she might have a fighting chance.

His mind wandered again to the soft silk of her gloved hands coupled with the soothing scent of jasmine and vanilla that filled his nostrils each time she stepped close to him. And he soon grew lost in the finer details of what made her different, but also curiously similar to him, whenever his father's voice interrupted the quiet.

"Your Mother won't stop talking about Lady Charlotte," Lord Grantham huffed, settling down on the empty space beside him.

At the sheer mention of the eager young woman, Robert frowned and sat back in his seat, "Freddie Spenser's sister?" He balked at the implication of his Papa's words. Shaking his head slowly, he exhaled deeply, "Why does Mama find her a suitable match anyway? She doesn't have much to offer."

Mirroring his annoyance, George Crawley grumbled, "Your Mother hasn't a clue of what it is we need."

"Papa?" Robert implored, "Wouldn't it be easier if you just told her?" How she hadn't discovered their scheme yet, was sheer dumb luck as far as he was concerned. But it wasn't his place to comment out loud on this.

"Robert," His father returned in a stern tone, his face hardening at his son's suggestion, "I do not foresee _any_ scenario where this is _easy_. And telling your mother at this stage will only make things _harder._" He paused, allowing the words to sink in before wondering, "Have you promised to call on her?"

He never made promises he couldn't keep. Just as she was undoubtedly raised, for a card hadn't exchanged hands that evening at the ball.

"No," Robert noticed the shift in his father's expression, and he immediately rushed into his explanation, "but she told Rosamund she's coming to Lord and Lady Jarvis' for dinner this evening."

"Well you know what that means?" George Crawley prompted with finality.

He did know it. If the last two years had taught him anything, it was how to follow through with the protocols of the season. And the constant reminders from his mother, and now, his father, only brought out those arrogant streaks of annoyance.

"Yes, Papa," He practically groaned, tossing back his head a bit while he parroted, "I'm to settle myself beside her."

"You must be more aggressive about it, my son." His father scolded, clapping Robert on the shoulder to regain his full attention.

It was then Robert witnessed the anxiety that creased his father's face. The wrinkles seeming deeper now, his hair thinning and grayer than ever before. "I'm told she's already caught The Duke of Cheshire's eye," He went on in his steady voice, strained with concern. "And if she's swayed by his charms, then I'm sorry to say, you do not stand a chance. And we risk losing Downton indefinitely."

The last statement carried enough weight to make Robert's stomach drop. And string it alongside the previous one, and he felt his middle clench uncomfortably. All the rich history his father carried on proudly about. All the sacrifices his mother made to keep the household running. Rosamund's contribution to the cause, albeit an ignorant one on her part. They all had a part to play. And his role was to maintain the balance and order. To ensure none of them wasted away.

If he lost her, then everything would be taken. They'd be wasted and lost, a disgrace at the expense of his own failure. It was a certainly a lot to take in.

"Are we absolutely sure she's the only one who can save it?" He wondered, hoping against all the odds that were seemingly stacked against him that his father might have another plan in place if the Duke of Cheshire didn't allow for this one to take shape.

"Why?" The surprise in his father's tone was startling, but Robert didn't flinch. He maintained his stoicism, staring back at his father, waiting for the obvious question of, "Do you not find her agreeable?" to come out.

"No, it's not that," He sighed, reaching up a hand to scratch the back of his neck.

"Then _what_ is it?" George probed, his skepticism outweighing any ounce of curiosity.

Robert froze. There wasn't anyway to vocalize his thoughts without reopening past wounds the family methodically stitched shut. He couldn't comment on the obvious thoughts that plagued him ever since he first heard Rosamund draw the comparison. Ever since he first laid eyes on Miss. Cora Levinson, and felt she was hauntingly beautiful.

So instead, Robert shrugged and glanced downward, muttering a weak response of, "It's nothing."

"See that it is," George remarked sternly.

"And what of Lady Charlotte?" Robert's head shot up, and offered rather defensively, "No doubt Mama expects me to take _her_ into dinner. _Not_ Miss. Levinson."

His father bobbed his head and squeezed Robert's shoulder before moving to stand, "I'll see that Lady Charlotte is preoccupied." He went on assuredly, "From what I understand, Lord Hayes found her rather enthralling the other night."

Robert let out a sigh and slowly shook his head.

When did it end? The constant cycling of ladies and gentleman, passing one another just like ships in the night. Forcing themselves to make port in the most convenient location, regardless of need or want. He supposed there were worse places one could settle. He only hoped Miss. Levinson wasn't one of them.

* * *

She felt the slight crack of her rib, and sucked in another sharp breath as Lucy tightened the cords of her corset. But even that couldn't hamper Cora's excitement at having received yet another letter from "Harold." She had waited for so long. At least, it felt that way, with all the events that transpired since she last wrote him.

Even so, her fingers couldn't tear open the envelope fast enough. Her eyes darted across the page, taking in the words as quickly as she could before they departed for dinner at the Jarvis'.

_I'm afraid I wasn't properly acquainted with most of Ann's _friends _during our time abroad. But based on your anecdote, I daresay I didn't miss much in not knowing them. However, I must remark that Lady Merton sounds absolutely wretched. I hope you didn't take her words too much to heart. She's merely jealous, Cora. Jealous of your beauty, your charm, and of course, your father's extensive wealth. You're quite incomparable to any of them, and unlike the rest of those girls, she appears to know it._

_But enough ink and space has been wasted on her. Let me express just how much I would long to hold one of your works in my hands. To drink in what your lovely eyes see within our world as worthy of such attention. To carefully trace my fingertips along the lines and shapes your delicate hands have created. To hang it in my office, so I might have a chance to think of you from time to time when my eyes lift from my work and my mind begins to wander as to where you are and whether or not you are well._

_But I am going much too far with my musings at present. You have already assured me you don't know if time will permit such activities. Although, I confess, I hope it will. However, I will settle for a recounting to an exhibit if that is all you can manage. I will relish in your retelling of the experience just as much as I would one of your paintings. For it will surely be more intelligible than any insight I can provide you during my time at The Met._

_I have made time to indulge in your request. It's coming together nicely. I can't very well articulate all that I've seen for words on such matters often fail me. Which is precisely why I need you here to help alleviate me from my helplessness._

_The stores are doing well enough. I am meeting with a Mr. Isaac Kaufmann. Do you know of him? He's a prominent business man who owns a local store in Pittsburgh. Father believes it might be advantageous to feel him out, and see if he'd be interested in expanding. Of course, it's still early days, but we're hopeful. I will inform you once a definite conclusion has been made in all the dealings. But for now, I do not wish to bore you with such details, my dear._

_Speaking of the family, they are all well. Peter's rearing for his chance to break free from Mother's hold on him. She's not quite ready to let her youngest fly from the nest. However, she is focusing her efforts on finding a nice girl at synagogue for me to take around town. Of course, no one has quite caught my eye. I'm not sure they ever will, really. Not when compared to your..._

The rapid knocking at the door nearly made Cora jump out of her skin. The paper crumbled in her hands and she quickly stuffed the half read letter back into the envelope just as her mother pushed into the dressing room.

Dripping in rubies and gold, with a shimmering evening gown to match, she practically floated into the room. "Cora," Tilting her head to the side, Martha frowned, her eyes scanning over her daughter's figure, "what's taking so long? We were supposed to have left ten minutes ago."

Feeling her cheeks flush, Cora pressed the letter to her stomach, feeling her heartbeat quicken. Her hands tremble slightly, sliding across the tiny envelope while she remarked weakly, "Sorry Momma. I was just uh...just..." Her mind fumbling for some type of excuse beneath her mother's probing gaze of curiosity.

"Well?" Martha demanded, brow arching while her eyes flickering towards Cora's folded hands near her middle. "What's wrong? Are you unwell?"

"No!" Cora bristled, feeling her heart hammer more anxiously inside of her chest.

Martha took a few steps closer, gesturing to her daughter's hands pressed against her stomach, "Then what's...?"

"I'm afraid it's my fault, Mrs. Levinson," Lucy piped up, tying the final knot in the back of Cora's corset before stepping around her mistress.

Keeping her hands behind her back, Lucy opened her palms, fingers curling in a suggestive gesture that gave Cora enough assurance to casually slip the letter into her maid's hands. "I recommended that Miss. Levinson wear the sea green and gold gown this evening as I heard talk that the Duke of Cheshire is fond of the color." Lucy jerked her head towards the settee at the foot of the bed, leaning forward to finger the edges of the gown in question while keeping one hand behind her back.

"And well, as you can see," She glanced back up at Mrs. Levinson, "it needed some minor alterations."

Cora watched the skeptical creases across her mother's face slowly smooth over. Martha considered the maid's words before glancing back over at her.

"That's right Momma," She flashed a smile, stepped passed Lucy, and slung an arm over her mother's shoulders. "Lucy was just putting on the finishing touches," She promised, steering her towards the door. "We wouldn't want to interfere with that now, would we?" She smiled again, hearing the blood rush through her ears.

"I suppose not," Martha furrowed her brow before glancing back at Lucy. "Well...don't take too long, m'dear." She inclined her head, and remarked sharply, "There's a difference between being fashionably late and causing an unpopular stir."

"Yes Momma," Cora reached to open the door, and usher her mother out of the room, "we won't be more than a few moments." After gingerly shoving her mother back out into the corridor and closing the door behind her, Cora let out the breath she'd been holding in the entire time.

Bowing her head, she hovered by the door for a few moments, basking in the relief that her secret was still buried. Thanks to Lucy's quick thinking.

Cora pivoted slowly on the spot, tentatively lifting her eyes to find her maid's. The corners of her lips twitched upward, and she saw Lucy's stoic expression staring back at her.

"Thank you, Luce," Cora offered gratefully, retracing her steps back to where her maid stood. "You saved me," She admitted, taking the girl's calloused hands in her soft ones.

Lucy nodded, and wordlessly placed the letter back in Cora's hand. "You really should be more careful, Miss," Lucy reminded her. "Keep them hidden. Otherwise it could cost us both dearly."

She looked down as if realizing her insubordination far too late. "Forgive me," Lucy murmured, moving back towards the sea green gown trimmed in golden lace.

"No," Cora remarked softly, instantly feeling a pang of guilt. Turning slowly towards her vanity, she opened up the bottom drawer and pulled out one of her journals. "There's really no need," She assured.

Lucy nodded again, carefully lifting the gown up and turning around to face her mistress, "We should get you into this dress, Miss. We don't want the Duke to think you anything less than fashionable." She flashed a wry half smile.

Cora laughed softly, dipped her head forward and started pacing towards her maid. "If I'm being honest, Luce, I don't particularly care what the Duke thinks of me."

"No?" This peaked her maid's interest while she lowered the opening of the gown for Cora to step into. "Forgive me for saying so, Miss, but you seemed rather intrigued by him the other night."

Cora placed her hands atop her maid's shoulder and carefully stepped into the evening gown. Once Lucy shimmied the dress past her hips, Cora shrugged, slipping her arms through the straps that would settled off her shoulders.

"Well...he's rather interesting," She admitted with a slight shrug as Lucy worked up the buttons on the back of her gown. "But I got the impression that he was more interested in himself than he was in me." Turning round to fall the full length mirror, Cora regarded herself rather proudly. "And I believe my future husband should at least have _some_ interest in me," She confided, playing with the broach that dangling from the center of gown.

"I think that's fair, Miss," Lucy remarked neutrally, her fingers nimbly working to lace her mistress inside the dress.

Cora agreed a bit sardonically, "_More than fair_, if you ask me." If he wasn't going to love me like she'd been loved before, at the very least he could find something interesting within her character. And if he was to take all that was hers, she didn't think hers was too lofty of a wish.

* * *

His height gave him an advantage to see above the heads of people that washed through the Jarvis' house like an endless sea. And so, he didn't have any doubts that he could spot her the instant she stepped into the room. However, what he didn't anticipate was being completely stunned by her appearance and nearly struck dumb.

She was glimmering from head to toe in blue and gold, her dark hair expertly coiffed at the back of her head and adorned with a glimmering, sapphire ornament combed above her right ear. His eyes were then drawn to the shimmering top half of her gown. The gossamer, golden sleeves drooped off her shoulders, and came across the front before disappearing beneath a heavily sequenced, cobalt blue fabric that gathered around her middle and fell down the back in a train that swept across the floor.

Her entrance garnered all sorts of attention, and Robert fought against the urge to rush over and ask to escort her into the dining room straightaway. He couldn't appear too eager. Otherwise, she would sense his desperation. And he couldn't afford such a misstep so early on.

So, Robert nudged his father in the arm, who immediately dispensed with informing Rosamund, who was to keep their mother preoccupied while he went in search of Lord Hayes. And then as planned, he casually strolled around the perimeter of the room, glancing over in Miss. Levinson's direction every now and again to ensure she wasn't in close proximity to the Duke of Cheshire, or any of the other rumored suitors whose eye she had already caught.

She was standing in between her mother, who in contrast wore gold and crimson, and Lady Spenser, who remained in half mourning in a gown of deep plum and black. He thought it curious as he drew closer to her that Lady Ann or Freddie Spenser weren't among them. But he supposed, perhaps they were already otherwise engaged for the evening. Still, this would make approaching her all the more tricky. He only wished there was a way she could know his desire to speak to her, without him breaking with social convention.

He passed another corner of the room, nearly across from her now. And then it happened. A cluster of people dissipated, catching her eye enough for her to turn and find him staring at her. His mouth twitched into an inviting half smile, and she instantly returned the look. There was an instantaneous jolt that hit him in the stomach, and his cheeks grew hot from her acknowledgment.

Robert mentally thanked god, for the plant that rested in the corner as it suddenly appeared more interesting than he ever expected it to. Running the waxy leaves in between his fingers, he pretended to examine it for a few seconds before looking back up again.

She had fallen back into a deep discussion with her mother and Lady Spenser again. Her attention was split between the two ladies, eyes intently trying to keep up with their jabbering. And in knowing she was distracted, he resumed his casual stroll towards her.

He didn't get more than a few paces before she noticed him once more. And this time, a flowering bit of shrubbery that smelled of lilacs demanded to be inspected. Robert bent forward, somewhat awkwardly, and inhaled the fragrant scent while gently patting the buds with his fingertips. After several seconds passed, he stood to full height again and glanced up to find Miss. Levinson conversing with the two ladies in her company.

So he pressed on in this fashion, trying to remain somewhat inconspicuous in his endeavor so as not to make a fool of himself while attempting to have her gauge his intentions. He even passed behind her a few to examine the same vase full of roses and other blossoms whose name escaped him. He only caught snippets of conversation from them, noticing a distinct pause or eye flicker from her twice now. Just as he was about to give up in the task of her initiating further conversation between them, he looked up to see her gliding toward him and the pot of flowers rather confidently.

"Lord Downton," She greeted softly.

Robert felt a wave of relief suddenly course through him, only for it to be soon followed by indescribable nerves.

"Miss. Levinson," He managed and inclined his head politely. "Good evening."

"Good evening," She smiled, and nodded similarly. There was a pause where her eyes drifted to the vase situated on the pedestal between them. "I was wondering sir," She broke the quiet, tilting her head to the side and focusing on him again, "whether or not you had an interest in botany."

He blinked back at her, and felt his throat go a bit dry. "I beg your pardon?"

She inhaled a deep breath before explaining rather quickly, "Forgive me, I couldn't help but take notice you were making your way towards our party, only to stop at every plant that came across our path. And then when you took to circling us, well I felt the need to intervene and inquire as to what you found so intriguing. You know, before you fell dizzy."

His head now felt dizzy indeed after hearing her share as many thoughts as the single breath of air would allow for. But once he was sure she was finished, he couldn't help but mused with a crooked grin, "I-I do apologize if I caused you any such distress. I assure you I am quite well."

"Well _that's_ certainly good to hear," Cora's assured with a warm smile. "But," She cocked her head to the side and probed cautiously, "if I may point out, you still haven't answered my inquiry."

"Forgive me," His brow creased and he frowned uncertainly, "I'm not entirely sure I heard one?"

"About your interest in the fauna on display this evening?" She reiterated before admitting with a shrug of her shoulders, "I'm curious. I didn't notice anything particularly striking about it. But then again, I must confess," Her gaze flickered down to the plant situated between them, and she ran her fingertips across the waxy leaves, "I am rather ignorant on such matters."

"Well, if we are making confessions to one another already, then I feel I must confess," He leaned forward enough to capture her attention once more, and lowering his voice whenever he was sure she was listening this time, "it was not the fauna I was interested in."

"No?" She took a step back, retracting her hand from the plant. Furrowing her brow, she insisted lightly, "But surely, your interest must have lied somewhere close by?"

"You're quite right in your assessment, Miss. Levinson," He commended.

It appeared she was more observant than he initially gave her credit for. And he found himself suddenly fumbling for a response whenever she stared back at him, silently appraising him with her pale blue eyes. It was becoming more obvious that his subtle approach would be lost on her. He would have to be more directly. And he couldn't be more terrified at the thought.

His heart beat quickly and he suddenly felt his face redden. Swallowing the growing lump in the back of his throat, Robert lowered his gaze and stuttered rather uncertainly, "My interest...you see...was in...well...you." His eyes flittered up to find her expression.

Her brow shot up in the center of her forehead, mouth rounding in surprise. "Me?" She echoed in disbelief, placing a delicate hand to the center of her chest.

Clearing his throat again, Robert nodded, and muttered, "Well...yes."

"I see," Was all she said, glancing off to the side and chewing on her bottom lip.

His eyes swept back down to the floor, and he suddenly wished she would start filling the silence with her bubbly voice as she did moments ago. As the seconds past, and they just stood there, eyes darting from one another and to their surroundings in an effort to occupy themselves, he felt the tension continuously build inside his chest.

And then it became far too much to bear, and the words tumbled out far more bluntly than he wished for.

"Miss. Levinson, I wonder if I might escort you into the dining room once dinner is announced?"

She looked to him, her expression unreadable for a few seconds until her mouth edged into a pleasant smile that almost crinkled the corners of her eyes.

"I'd be delighted for you to, Lord Downton," She agreed kindly with an inclination of her head.

He smiled, feeling more steady now that he gained her acceptance. Perhaps the cycling of young ladies around him would soon end, and he wouldn't feel terribly dizzy as he did in seasons past.


	11. An Undisclosed Arrangement

The sun shone brightly through the open windows in the front sitting room, and Cora relished in the warmth the rays provided from her seat at the window. She sat on the edge of the thin cushions, spine straightened to full height, a book daintily folded open in her lap. Her eyes flickered across the pages full of tiny print that was nearly impossible for her to read from this position. Yet it was the expectation that she was fully engrossed in the story before her, and not at all interested in the heated debate that transpired between Martha and Lady Spenser over afternoon tea.

"But the Duke of Cheshire seemed such a promising match from the start," Martha moaned, tilting back her head in despair.

"I think it's high time you let that go, my dear." Lady Spenser stated evenly, patting Martha's knee with little reassurance. Once she settled back in her seat, and Martha sat up straighter in hers, Lady Spenser lifted her teacup to her lips, all the while pointing out, "He's practically promised to Lady Frampton's daughter at this stage."

"But it's hardly been a month," Martha countered skeptically. "How could it possibly be settled so soon?" Martha demanded, setting down her teacup with such vigor that a rattling noise prompted Cora to jump.

Fortunately her mother was still too appalled that they missed their chance, and Lady Spenser was too taken aback by Martha's outburst to notice Cora's interest in the book was wavering.

Lady Spenser let out a terse breath before insisting, "That's just the way these things are here, my dear. It's no reflection on Cora…"

"Well I should certainly hope not! If anything, it's a reflection on the Duke and his-"

"It won't help to fuss over it," Lady Spenser went on as calmly as the situation would allow for. "What's done is done. Cora ought to focus her attentions elsewhere." She placed her teacup back on the table, her dreary, gray eyes shooting across the room to find Cora's.

She instantly felt a jolt course through her middle, and reaffixed her gaze back on the printed pages before her. There was a silence that descended upon the room, and she swiftly flipped a page in the book.

Eavesdropping was a punishable offense in the eyes of Lady Spenser. And Cora already had a sneaking suspicion that her exemplary behavior was one of the few reasons the hostess tolerated her mother's regular outbursts. She couldn't risk a black mark over something so frivolous.

But instead of offering some reprimand that insulted her mother's rearing of her daughter, or the importance of Cora understanding that some affairs shouldn't concern her, Lady Spenser called out to her directly.

"Come here, child," She lifted her hand, and inclined her head gracefully. Join us."

Abandoning the book on the window sill ledge, Cora folded her hands at her waist and walked towards the round table in the center of the room. She sank down on the empty chair across from both her mother and Lady Spenser, glancing between both women, waiting for what was to come next.

The sloshing sound of tea filling the cup in front of her soon caught Cora's attention. And the pair of wrinkled hands that tilted the silver spout in her direction belonged none other than Lady Spenser. She was older than her own mother, having married on the brink of spinsterhood to an already widowed husband. Her hair was faded gold, streaked with silver that matched her dreary grey eyes. Muted in color, they were still sharp enough to send chills across Cora's skin, especially whenever her nostrils flared and her bottom lip curled under in distinct disapproval.

Cora eyed the lady of the house rather cautiously, waiting for her to release the teapot and settle back in her seat before pouring in a few dribbles of milk and stirring in two cubes of sugar.

"I'm sure you've come to understand," Lady Spenser began, pausing for Cora to meet her eye again, "your mother is naturally disappointed in the dissolution of your acquaintance with the Duke of Cheshire."

As if she hadn't heard their conversation from seconds prior. Cora looked down in her teacup, stifling the urge to roll her eyes at how idiotic the whole charade was. Still, _ladies were to be seen, not heard unless addressed directly_. Those were the rules of the house, and she would do her best to play by them.

"You mustn't blame yourself, dear," Lady Spenser insisted, reaching a hand across the table to gingerly pat Cora's.

Realigning her gaze to find Lady Spenser's, Cora quirked a brow. Then she realized perhaps she appeared more contrite over Lady Spenser's words than she ever anticipated. Deciding it was best to play along, Cora bobbed her head and blinked several times as if to show it gave her great heartache to lose one of the most coveted catches of this season.

Martha snorted in response, but Lady Spenser pretended not to notice.

Instead, she seemed content to ramble on about how the match between the Duke and the Frampton girl was predetermined ages ago, but they both had to play at least part of the season for the sake of the thing itself. "Even so," She cleared her throat, sharpening her tone of voice, "we must think of alternative options in order to alleviate your mother's _obvious_ distress."

"It's for her own good as well," Martha piped up smoothly, garnering her daughter's attention.

"Yes, yes, of course" Lady Spenser agreed flippantly.

"Cora," Mother implored, tilting her head to the side, "tell us how you find this Lord Downton fellow."

She shouldn't have been surprised when he was brought up in this conversation. Her every move was monitored at each event. Even when certain freedoms were granted rather unexpectedly. She supposed her latest involvement with Lord Downton must have created somewhat of a stir at the Jarivs' House.

Taking another sip of tea, Cora took great care in setting it back on the saucer and folding her hands on the edge of the table before disclosing the other night to both women.

* * *

Cora's eyes darted from across the table as the unmarried ladies and gentleman were settling in their chairs and already mingling. She smiled politely at each of them, inclining her head when necessary, and even going as far as to say a quiet, 'hello,' to them when it seemed acceptance to do so.

Her stomach was a bundle of nerves ever since Lord Downton had released her arm in the middle of the dining hall, in search of his own seat in the vast dining hall. It never occurred to her that he might not end up beside her during the entirety of the meal as well. She wondered whom would be placed beside her. _Would he find her company agreeable? Would he make her feel more anxious?_

She anticipated it was most likely to be a 'he,' given the pattern the fifty or so chairs were filling up. But she never anticipated it was to be _him_.

"I'm afraid you aren't rid of me so easily, Miss. Levinson."

She felt the knot at the pit of her stomach dissipated upon hearing the smooth cadence of his voice. Allowing herself a broad smile, she turned her face up towards his, and mused lightly, "Oh? And why's that?"

"Lady Jarvis has just informed me that I am to sit to your left," He answered with a grin, sinking down in his seat.

"That's quite lucky," She glanced down to her empty plate, focusing on the delicate geometric patterns that lined the edges of the china.

Not that that it would be a significant detail she'd remember from this evening.

"I hope you don't view it as too much of an imposition," He went on, and she swore she detected a note of self-consciousness in his tone.

"Not at all," She assured plainly, catching his eye again. "In fact," She thought for a moment before admitting, "it is a bit of a relief to know I'll have at least one familiar face beside me."

Inclining his head he remarked, "I quite agree."

The corners of her mouth twitched and she couldn't help but tease, "You're quite liberal with your flattery, Lord Downton."

His eyes twinkled in response while he wondered, "Why do you say that?"

"Because I have no doubt you know everyone in this room," She replied with a knowing grin, arching her brow as if to challenge this point.

He snickered slightly and bowed his head forward. She indulged in a lighthearted peal of laughter as well, and was on her way to insisting her correctness on the matter whenever he admitted rather modestly, "I wouldn't be so bold as to say I know _everyone_."

"But nearly so?" She continued goading him.

He glanced up form the corner of his eye, his mouth creasing in another smile. Bobbing his head, he told her, "Well you have me there, Miss. Levinson."

Cora sat back in her seat, wholly satisfied with herself for getting something right. Of course the feeling was short lived as Lord Downton leaned closer to add, "But I must say that it is refreshing to be seated beside a lovely young woman whom I hardly know a thing about."

Chills cascaded across the surface of her skin, and she shivered from the unexpected compliment. Clearing her throat pointedly, she shifted in her chair and accidentally nudged the man to her right. Instantly whirling around, the beads of her earrings clicked from the sudden motion. Eyes widening in surprise, mouth dropping open, she instantly gushed apologetically to the stranger, "I am terribly sorry, sir. I didn't mean-"

"Think nothing of it," He remarked with a familiar hardness to his voice.

This, along with the warmth of his deep brown eyes and his crooked smile, instantly struck a chord deep within her. Cocking her head to the side, she couldn't help but marvel, "You're-you're American?"

"As are you," He observed with an air of amusement.

Cora shook her head, and let a ripple of laughter invade her next words, "Forgive me. It's just I didn't expect..." She paused, studying his expression that remained entirely focused on hers. And suddenly the rest of her thought didn't seem as important any longer. Not at all as important as him brandishing a hand and offering his name in formal introduction.

"Allow me to introduce myself first, Miss. Mr. Johnathan Clark."

"Miss. Cora Levinson," She replied easily, her hand slipping into his.

"A pleasure, Miss. Levinson," He assured with an air of sincerity she couldn't quite deny.

She was about to open her mouth and offer up a response to this whenever she heard a throat clearing on the other side of her. Slowly releasing her hold on Mr. Clark's hand, she turned back around to face Lord Downton.

"As I was saying, Miss. Levinson," He went on to explain once she fixed her attentions on him once more. "It is more of a pleasure for me to be seated beside a lovely young woman whom I hardly know a thing about, rather than one I've known my whole life. I believe it makes for more lively conversation if the two parties seated side by side know very little about one another."

Cora was about to open her mouth to respond whenever Mr. Clark chimed in from over her right shoulder, "I think that's a rather sound point."

"Well it's easier to agree with another man's observation than it is to make it known," Lord Downton rejoined stiffly.

Cora sat back in her chair, her gaze shifting a bit uncomfortably between both men. She had gone from feeling flattered to feeling like a prize to be won by the stronger contender. Seeking to dissolve the quiet tension that now hung above all of them, Cora racked her brain for a wave to steer this conversation into more neutral waters.

"Well whatever the case," She began good-naturedly, flashing a warm smile to man on either side of her, "I shall try to be a good sport and prove _both_ of your opinions to be accurate."

Lord Downton's smiled deepened and he bowed in an almost reverent manner.

Soon after, Cora found her attentions enraptured by Mr. Clark's coy response of, "I appreciate your effort already, Miss. Levinson,"

Feeling the laugh work its way up the back of her throat made her feel warm all over. And she knew the blush that tinged her cheeks would normally make her feel nervous, but in this case, she welcomed the sensation of being noticed so by another man.

This only intensified with Mr. Clark's coy remark, "You know, I've heard a great deal about you, from Lady Spenser."

"Is that so?" She giggled softly, her mind whirring with intrigue. Cocking her head to one side she taunted, "Well, I hope nothing that will give me cause to blush even further."

"Nothing too litigious, I can assure you." He winked at her before adding, "Merely that you're from New York."

She shrugged and smirked, "Some might say that."

Mr. Clark grinned at her, his curiosity blossoming across his visage. "And what do the others say?"

Cora opened her mouth to offer a response whenever she heard one come from behind her left shoulder.

"That the Levinson's originally hail from Cincinnati."

She turned to glance at Lord Downton, noticing he now had a glass full of deep red wine before him. When the server stopped by her glass, she raised her hand in polite refusal and replied astonishingly, "Very good to hear that you remembered my family history, Lord Downton."

Following his slow sip of claret, Lord Downton informed her intently, "Well I tend to remember things I'm interested in, Miss. Levinson."

"And is American geography one of your interests, Lord Downton?" Mr. Clark decidedly chimed in.

She watched Lord Downton's gaze shoot beyond her to find Mr. Clark's. "More recently, yes, Mr. Clark. It is becoming one," He remarked flatly.

Cora looked downward once more anticipating another tense movement that would require her quick thinking. Thankfully, Lord Downton seemed to have lost interest in aiming to verbally cut Mr. Clark down to size. For he leaned forward, forcing her eyes to lift behind heavy lids and search his.

They were glimmering with intrigue again, and crinkled at the corners when he flashed a deep felt smile. "Thanks to Miss. Levinson," He muttered softly, lifting his glass in her honor before taking another sip.

It wasn't the first time that evening she felt herself grinning so deeply that her cheeks flush hot without an air of self-consciousness. But it was the first time she noticed a similar expression being reflected back at her. And in that moment, she didn't wish to turn to her right for the remainder of the evening.

* * *

Cora took another sip of tea, but it surprisingly felt quite warm to her. She lowered her eyes back to the table, setting the teacup on top of the saucer. She waited patiently, as a lady would, for either woman to comment on what she just shared with them.

"What do you say Lady Spenser?" Martha's sharp tone interrupted the quiet.

Lifting her eyes just a fraction, Cora saw her mother glance expectantly towards their hostess while asking, "Do you think his words earnest enough to hold any significant meaning?"

Lady Spenser chewed on her bottom lip thoughtfully, clearly deliberating her next words very carefully. Once she found the right response, her attention settled on Martha while she informed her rather plainly, "I have known the Crawley Family for a long time. And while Lord Downton might be intrigued by your darling daughter, I can say with almost certainty that his mother will not be."

Martha rolled her eyes and practically scoffed, "Mother aside, do you think him out of her reach?"

Drawing her mouth in a tightened line Lady Spenser insisted tersely, "I'd say if you can gain her approval, you can have him."

"Splendid!" Martha crooned, prompting Cora to cringe as she went on with displaced zeal, "That's precisely what we shall do then! Would you terribly mind making the introductions?"

"If you insist," Lady Spenser's jerked in a jagged motion of disapproval. She raised her cup of tea, but hesitated before lifting it to her lips to take a sip. Her gaze shifted towards Cora's, and she addressed her, her head jerking ever so slightly to remind the both of them that she didn't agree. "However, I wouldn't entirely disregard, Mr. Clark. You should enlist someone to check up on him, Martha." Her eyes darted back over to Cora's mother before continuing pointedly, "I'm not so sure Lady Grantham would be convinced to allow her only son to seriously consider a girl from outside the system. Her children merely present the matches, she has every right to refuse them."

Cora bit down on her tongue, and dug her fingernails into the back of her wrist. She tried to keep her face unchanging as her reply to Lady Spenser's opinions blared through her head.

_Unless of course, one of her children has already decided_, Cora thought to herself.

Thankfully, Martha swooped in with a sardonic, "Well she just sounds like a dear heart then."

"One doesn't run one of the grandest estates in Yorkshire for twenty-some years by being a dear heart," Lady Spenser bristled, and soon both of the women were throwing back slights masked by smiles and clever words.

However, Cora was too distracted to listen to anything but the pounding of her heart. With Lady Spenser's brew description of the Countess of Gratham, she started to feel unnerved by the decision her and Lord Downton made the other night.

* * *

"I hope you aren't too tired after another waltz, Miss. Levinson," He remarked with a slight air of concern.

She beamed up at him as they slowly departed the center of the bustling dance floor, and began a slow stroll along the perimeter of the room towards her mother and Lady Spenser. "Not at all," She assured him, discovering a crooked grin reflected back at her. It was enough to rattle her heart inside her chest. "I must confess," She affixed her gaze forward again, so as not give into the sensations entirely and forget herself, "I haven't seen much of the dance floor aside from a few turns with your, Lord Downton."

"I can't help but also wonder what Mr. Clark thinks of that," He probed.

She instantly felt a jolt in the pit of her stomach at the sheer mention of the other man who sat close by her at dinner. "What does it matter?" Was her immediate, haughty response, and she quickly bit down on her lip as if she could somehow recapture the words and leave them unsaid. "That is," She began more meekly, flashing a slight smile at Lord Downton, "it's not his place to have an opinion."

He seemed nonplussed by her minor outburst thankfully, for all he did was shrug his shoulders and comment, "I suppose you're right."

They took the next several strides in silence again, before Lord Downton piped up, "I did enjoy our conversation over dinner quite immensely."

"Really?" She echoed, her eyes alighting out of relief. He nodded, out of mere politeness she was sure. But it didn't stop her from teasing, "I didn't bore you with too many stories?"

"Not in the least bit," He returned earnestly, his eyes shining with a similar pleasantness she definitely felt in his company as well. "I was fascinated by all of them."

Looking down again to disguise the fullness of her smile, she took small pleasure in knowing that at the very least there was a mutual interest between them. And then it occurred to her to tell him, "Well you'll have to reciprocate in like and tell me all about life at Downton one day."

"Do you foresee such a day occurring?" He asked, his tone lifting rather enthusiastically.

"Well..." When Cora lifted her eyes level once more, she noticed they weren't more than a few yards away from her mother and Lady Spenser. She halted their progress and turned to face him more fully. "...I don't have my crystal ball with me at present. But if I had to venture a guess I would say it's a likely occurrence."

She looked away, instantly feeling an unexpected air of self-consciousness wash through her. She hadn't said such things to a man in quite some time. And even then, it was a man she'd known for the majority of her life. This was quite different. Bolder than she'd ever been in her limited experience with the opposite sex. Yet, she was taking such steps for some reason unknown to her.

"So…" Lord Downton began after a slight pause in their conversation, "...might I call on you then?"

She looked up, grateful that he didn't rebuke her for her words, but rather felt some significant truth within them. His mouth parted again as if he were going to elaborate, and she searched his face, hanging onto the possibility that something more might come of their time sparse time together thus far.

"At Rosendale Manor?" He tried again, apparently waiting for her to reply.

Her lips broke into an agreeable smile, and she glanced downward momentarily in search of her calling card. Dislocating it from inside her small carrier, she offered it to him rather ceremoniously and inclined her head, "You certainly may."

* * *

_**I wanted to get this up before the weekend. In my haste, I am sure there are a boatload of typos/mispellsings/etc. Please let me know via PM if there's anything glaring so I might fix it upon my return. Thanks and I hope you all enjoy!**_


	12. Artful Discussion

**_Bending the hands of time a little bit in regards to the historical references to art in this chapter. Give me a little creative license with it, please? :) Aside from that, enjoy the update!_**

* * *

"I'm sure she's a nice young woman, but she's not for _our_ son."

He was very familiar with the words. This wasn't the first time he heard them from his mother. Just as this wasn't the first time he found himself disobeying them. However, this time, his disobedience was adequately reasoned.

"Violet. She's well endowed," He heard his father's muffled voice from the other side of the heavy oak door.

And this time his reasoning was backed by a formidable ally.

"I don't care if she owns all the gold and diamonds in the world!" He heard his mother's indigence plainly in her declaration of, "She's not fit to be Countess of Grantham one day."

"Perhaps that is _why_ he likes her. She's not like the other girls."

"Likable?! Do you hear the words coming out of your mouth right now?! He doesn't need someone likable, George! He needs someone who is capable. And Miss. Levinson-"

"How do you know she isn't capable?!" Lord Grantham echoed incredulously. "_You_ haven't even met the girl!"

His mother hissed, "I don't need to meet her to know _she isn't one of us_!"

Robert felt his jaw tighten at these words. There was truth in them, he couldn't deny that. But his mother's stubbornness was mounting his irritation.

"But she can be groomed to be one of us," His father insisted plainly. "_Any_ girl he selects will need to learn how Downton's run anyway."

There was a brief pause on the other side of the library door before Robert could hear his mother tersely explaining, "But there are girls _better suited_ to the task. What about that Spenser girl?"

At this, Robert felt his stomach coil at the sheer mention of Ann Spenser's younger sister-in-law. She was nice and pretty, but there wasn't much else she had to offer in way of conversation. At least, not when compared to the witty charms of Miss. Levinson.

"At least she has been raised to know how things run on this side of the world," Came the next indignant point that set his father reeling.

"The third daughter of an Earl? Really Violet?! That's hardly an even match!"

"And the daughter of a dry good's merchant from Cincinnati is?! Surely you've gone mad if you think-"

"Do you want Robert to marry this season or not? Because if history is any indication-"

"Don't act as though I haven't done what's best for this family all along! That girl was ruined!"

"All because _he_ ruined her!"

Robert winced at the words that carried shameful memories with them. Memories of nights in borrowed dressing rooms with her that were once full of intense yearning and fulfillment were now marred with the realization of his parents knowledge of his misdeeds.

He _had_ ruined her. And in knowing this, he tried everything he could to make it right. However, she plainly refused him, and in doing so, the plan to marry her off swiftly to the next willing party began with his mother skillfully leading the endeavor.

She did what was best for their family. What could best prevent them from a scandal he nearly brought down on all of them. To obtain a reputation would lessen his options in their inner circle. His mother had spared him from such degradation.

And here he was, going against her wishes, telling himself it was all for the sake of saving the only way of life they've ever known. He convinced himself it wasn't only for himself. That it was for the sake of the whole family as well. But the more he got to know her, the more it felt like it was more to sate his own desires and interests.

"Goodness, are they at it again?" Rosamund suddenly materialized behind him, prompting him to jump and whirl around.

"When aren't they?" He returned defensively, trying to conceal his uneasiness.

"Violet!" They both turned back to glance at the closed door, listening to their father barking, "You can't always get what you want! This isn't your choice! You had yours-"

"Has Papa _really_ not told her yet?" Rosamund murmured, folding her arms in front of her and shaking her head in disbelief.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and resounded with similar annoyance, "I don't believe so."

"Don't you dare place blame on me about this!" They both froze at the sound of their mother shrieking back in response.

"We both know _where_ he gets such tendencies from, Violet! And it's certainly not from anything _I_ taught him!"

Rosamund cleared her throat and touched his arm, "We shouldn't be here, Robert."

His eyes shot up and found hers. Cocking his head to the side, he taunted, "Since when have you passed up the opportunity to eavesdrop on one of their arguments?"

"This isn't just another spat," She insisted, her fingers digging into his sleeve. "This is about the future, brother dear. You're already overstepping by being so public with your interest in Miss. Levinson."

Robert opened his mouth to offer a retort whenever Rosamund spoke up through clenched teeth, "Don't give Mama any further cause."

He exhaled heavily, rolling his eyes at his sister's prudence in that very moment. She was right. He hated to openly admit to it, but she was. So he grumbled a resigned, "Come on then," and seized hold of her shoulder, steering her away from the closed library door.

"Cheer up, brother dear," Rosamund chirped, nudging him in the ribs. "We have plans this afternoon anyway."

"Plans?" He frowned in question, "What plans?"

"I'm to meet a Mr. Marmaduke Painswick at the gallery this afternoon," She crooned, much to his annoyance. "They are supposedly unveiling the new Waterhouse's."

"So?" He countered with a raised brow, "What has that got to do with me?"

"Well you see," Rosamund cocked her head to the side, her mouth splaying into a coy smirk, "with Mama busy arguing with Papa. I'm left without a chaperone."

He opened his mouth to offer up his argument whenever she went with a melodramatic sigh, "Well I suppose you could always refuse me." She leaned her shoulder into his, clasping her hands together and batting her eyelashes up at him. "Then Mr. Painswick will never see reason to propose, and I'll be stuck at Downton forever. But at least then I can keep you and Miss. Levinson company."

He groaned at the prospect of his sister nagging him alongside a wife that would be rumored too. "But Rosamund," He practically whined, huffing out his frustrations. "I had plans to...I had plans this afternoon."

"Plans?" She chuckled, throwing back her head along with his earlier words. "What plans? What could possibly be more important than seeing your elder sister finally married off this season? Hmm?" She pursed her lips together tightly and tilted her head forward expectantly.

"I was to..." He started automatically before reconsidering. "...oh never mind that now."

"Tell me," She grabbed hold of his arm again, tugging it sharply as they ambled back through the front saloon. "I won't have you being sullen all day and ruining my chances with Mr. Painswick. Mama will do enough of that herself."

He hummed out of amusement to her point. But then when her gaze remained steady on his, still probing for an answer to her question, he relented with a bowed head, "I was going to call on Miss. Levinson this afternoon."

His cheeks flushed brightly from this admission, and he instantly wrenched his arm free of her hold.

"So call on her," Rosamund shrugged, her tone light and void of any teasing remarks.

Shocked by her silence on this point, his eyes flickered up to find hers. And he began, rather puzzled, "But if I'm going with you to the gallery-"

"Ask her along," She suggested.

"What?" He blinked back at her.

"Ask her. To come. Along with us." She explained slowly, as if he were suddenly struck too dumb to comprehend her. He was about to grumble about this whenever she practically sang out loud, "It'll be more fun that way."

"But-but I don't even know if she cares for art," He argued lamely.

It was Rosamund's turn to roll her eyes while she reminded him, "Any properly bred woman cares for art."

He snorted at this, sensing her imitation of their dear mother coming through in her words. "Well then," Robert decided, his mockery evident through his next words, "if nothing else, I can use that in my argument against Mama."

"Then here's to hoping Miss. Levinson is keen on art," Rosamund lifted her hand with a flourish, bowing in a single motion.

* * *

She was of course, surprised whenever he appeared with Lady Rosamund. The pair of them obviously had a connection that went back many years. Perhaps their entire lives. She felt a stab of jealousy in her heart. Her jaw stiffening, fingernails digging into the palm of her hands.

She thought of their banter and laughter from a few nights prior when she agreed to dance a quadrille with him. And these thoughts coupled with these unexpected feelings, made her wish to refuse his request. But the prospect of seeing freshly painted works of art made it all the more difficult to refuse him.

Not that she really had a choice. Mother answered for her, arranged for Ann to chaperone her, and Cora had not choice but to cheerlessly agree to such madness.

Which is what made the reality of the situation all the more humorous. Whenever they arrived at the gallery to meet a one, Mr. Marmaduke Painswick.

Cora couldn't conceal the laughter that tumbled between the cracks in her fingers, no matter how tightly she pressed her hand against her lips. She was certain he found her looking and sounding ridiculous in that moment. Well bred English ladies didn't allow themselves the chance to laugh so deeply their insides ached. But much to her surprise, he didn't chastise her.

No, the edges of his mouth curled into a smile that he attempted to hide. But the twinkle in his pale blue eyes betrayed any ounce of stoicism he might try to display at present. "What-what's so amusing?" He managed to ask in spite of the ripple riding throughout his tone.

"Lady Rosamund is your sister?!" Once she gathered her composure, Cora marveled, feeling the tears slowly streaming down her cheeks.

"Yes!" He inclined his face, sharing in her incredulity. "Who on Earth did you think she was to me?!"

She laughed softly, bowing her head forward and then shooting a glance back at Ann to ensure she was still with them. "I confess," She muttered quietly, unable to conceal the smile that broke across her lips, "I am much too embarrassed to tell you what I initially thought of you too."

_Although why should you be embarrassed? He did ask for your calling card. If anything, _he_ should be embarrassed for such confusion. _But she forced herself to suppress these thoughts, and redirect her focus to the paintings splayed on the walls before them.

Thankfully, Ann, who was a few paces ahead of them, turned around, taking notice of them once more. "Cora! Come look at this one!" She urged, waving her hand for Cora to hurry closer. "You'll find it divine, darling! That much I'm sure of!" She went on eagerly.

And without a beat of hesitation, Cora complied with her friend's urgent request, nearly abandoning Lord Downton in her excitement.

She allowed Ann to seize hold of her arm and thread it through her own while they gazed up at the piece hanging on the wall. The subject was vibrant yet dreary, a perfect mix between beauty and melancholy. The maiden in the foreground wore an expressive mask of torment, but her position didn't suggest she was in great pain. She sat in a classical stance inside the boat, made of dark wood, stripped bare in streaks from apparent use. But the gold curve of the helm remained wholly in tact as if the vehicle were newly made.

Cora spotted half a dozen other contradictions throughout the piece, but her thoughts were soon interrupted by a questioning tone, "Do you enjoy this piece, Miss. Levinson?"

Tearing her eyes away from the canvas, she glanced up at Lord Downton and smiled in agreement, "Oh yes. Very much so."

She watched him nod, and then narrow his gaze towards the painting. His brow knitted together as if he were attempting to solve a very complex puzzle gave her cause to wonder, "And do you, Lord Downton?"

He frowned, his eyes skirting across the surface of the canvas for several seconds before he decided plainly, "She looks dreadfully sad."

Ann giggled, prompting Cora to jar her elbow into her friend's side, effectively silencing her. "What?" She gasped in response to this action. "It's the Lady of Shalott," She pointed out, gesturing to the golden placard hanging beneath the piece. "Or has my husband deceived me in making me think all of you English men know Tennyson, Lord Downton?"

"Ann," Cora hissed this time, her eyes widening in disbelief.

"Well I can't speak for all of them, Lady Covington," He spoke rather stiffly, "however, I can speak for myself. And I assure you that _I do_ know of _Lord_ Tennyson."

"I'm sure Lord Downton can see the poem's content captured by the brush now that you've educated him on the subject matter, Ann," Cora lightly scolded her friend through tightly clenched teeth.

"Yes," He assured, "it all seems to make sense now, thank you for your insight Lady Covington."

Cora saw Ann beam up at him sweetly, but she see could see the edges of her expression tinged with mischief. Shooting her a sharp look, Cora lifted a suggestive brow and slowly shook her head. Letting out a slight chuckle, Ann tossed back her head and released Cora's arm. "I wonder if I should see how Lady Rosamund and Mr. Painswick are finding the artwork. You wouldn't mind keeping my dear friend some company, would you Lord Downton?"

"Well uhm..." He blinked several times, trying to find his voice.

"Splendid!" Ann clapped her hands together gleefully. "I'll be back in a jiffy!" She whirled around to seek out Lady Rosamund and Mr. Painswick, who stood a few yards away, in front of one of the other paintings. As if an afterthought, she glanced over her shoulder and winked suggestively, "Behave yourselves children."

Cora's hand flew to cover her mouth, stifling the girlish peal of laughter that threatened to spill forth.

Lord Downton, however, sounded less amused. "Remind me why your Mother thought her a suitable chaperone?"

Cora's head snapped up, her face searching his. His eyes shifted to gaze into hers, and she noticed the stony features lining his expression. Lowering her hand, she offered a polite smile and the first neutral remark that filled her head and rolled across her tongue, "I admit. Ann can be a bit..._much _to handle at times. However, I can assure her moral compass points due north."

"Well," He shrugged, shoving his hands inside his pockets, "I'm glad to hear one of us is convinced."

The disbelief in his tone turned a switch inside of her, and she replied more defensively than she otherwise intended, "Forgive me, Lord Downton, if I seem impertinent. But I have known her nearly all my life. And you've known her for how long? The duration of one afternoon?"

Her cheeks reddened whenever she met his gaze, seeing the shock erupt across his visage.

Now she'd done it. She was certain her words would not be met kindly on the amiable Lord Downton, who had, up until this very moment, appeared entirely interested in her. Why couldn't she just bite her tongue like all the other girls? Smile, and offer some charming remark or observation like they seemed to adept at doing. But that wasn't her. She couldn't just allow such things to roll off her shoulders. Especially when it came to the Adelberg's. Perhaps her life would be easier if that were the case. But Cora would most likely never know.

Forcing her focus downward, Cora turned away from him in search of the rest of the group. There was hardly a point to trying to salvage this conversation, she decided. He wouldn't waste anymore time on her. Not whenever he could have any of those other girls with whom his acquaintance spanned the course of several years.

However, she found him proving her wrong yet again when the echo of his steady gait resounded beside her, and his conceding response of, "A fair point you make, Miss. Levinson. And please," the pleading edge in his voice paired with his hand, pressing on her forearm, prompted her eyes to flicker upward to search his, "forgive me if I sounded rude just now." Releasing her arm, he placed his hand at the center of his chest, and tilted his head forward apologetically.

She paused altogether, her brow shooting to the center of her forehead. After a few moments of looking utterly dumbfounded and ridiculous, she pressed her lips together and blinked several times. With a reviving shake of her head, she then tilted her head to one side and shrugged, "It's no matter."

"But I have offended you," He insisted, his eyes alighting with deep felt concern.

Looking back over her shoulder at the rest of their party, she muttered lightly, "Not terribly."

There was a pause, and she was about to resume her intended course whenever he broke through the silence, prompting her to glance up at him once more.

"I confess, I should know Lady Covington better before making such remarks." Lord Downton admitted so softly, she felt every word and believed it to be true. His words weren't said out of rudeness, but out of ignorance. She could practically finish his next thought before he uttered the first half. "It's just..."

"...she's different?" She smiled knowingly, feeling some slight satisfaction whenever he replied with an astounded, _'Yes'_.

It wasn't a revolutionary thought. Yet, by the wondrous expression that crossed his face, he probably believed it to be true. They all did. And she let them. It was the only bit of leverage she had in this social game full of witticisms and coy looks.

"As I am," Cora insisted, her mouth curling into a more prominent smile, crinkling the corners of her eyes.

He inclined his head, and swallowed, his gaze fixated on her face, "Yes."

"I should wonder..." She cocked her head to one side, her hands folding together at her waist, "if that bothers you a great deal?"

He frowned, countering, slightly confused, "Why should it?"

"Your less than favorable opinion of Lady Ann," She explained briefly. "I wonder if you think similarly of..."

"Of you?" He echoed, sounding somewhat taken aback by this.

She merely smiled, lifting her brow in mute agreement.

"Heaven's no!" He gushed so suddenly, that her heart nearly stalled inside her chest.

Bobbing her head, she exhaled an amused peal of laughter before turning back in the direction where Ann went off to join Lady Rosamund and Mr. Painswick. They appeared to be engaged in lively conversation, the ladies giggles ringing through the air. Mr. Painswick appeared less than enthused, standing with his hands clasped behind his back, staring up at the paintings that Ann and Rosamund didn't appear to find a great deal of interest in.

Looking back up to Lord Downton, she jerked her head in their direction, "I suppose we should rejoin them."

"If you like," He agreed, although she swore she could note a flicker of disappointment across his visage. "But please," He followed her slightly quickened pace, "see all the paintings you like on the way. That is, you seem to enjoy the them. I would hate for you a chance to tell your friends about them because of something I said."

And then the stirrings of what felt like guilt slowly worked its way into her heart. He was rather considerate. More so, than the other gentleman she had know. And she had intended to tell one friend in particular about their afternoon at the exhibit. And she had every intention of suppressing the fact that she was having a lovely time with Lord Downton.

The temperature in the room appeared to rise, and she was glancing down at her feet again, until he suggested earnestly, "What about this one, Miss. Levinson? How do you find it?"

From the corner of her eye, she saw him turn to face one of the smaller pieces hanging on the wall. Hands folded behind his back, head angled back, there was something endearing about him. She couldn't quite pinpoint it, but she was certain that in time, she'd come to understand the cause.

As she slowly strolled to meet him in front of the painting, Cora forgot about her guilt. She forgot about mostly everything except the fact that Lord Downton valued her opinions on something that meant so dear to her.

* * *

_**Ok so this chapter is kind of pointless, but I wanted to at least try to get back into the habit of updating this. Let me know your thoughts if you have the time! **_


	13. Hazy Circumstance

The weeks following their outing at the art gallery passed by in a blur of dinner parties and balls, chaperoned walks through the public gardens, visits to the museums, and even a few evenings at the concert hall and theatre. Yet even with all this time they shared with one another Cora still felt as though there was so much more to learn about him.

They passed the early stages of intrigue and curiosity that drew them together, and moved onto what felt like purposeful intent. Whether or not they attended the important events together or arrived separately only for their paths to deliberately cross, it was becoming clearer to everyone around them: Lord Downton had his sights set on _one of those Newport girls_.

Cora knew it ever since the night of the Jarvis' party when she gave him her calling card. Her mother knew it soon after when the whole business with the Duke didn't come to fruition. Lady Rosamund discovered it whenever she insisted they invite her along to the gallery that afternoon. But now everyone else seemed aware of it. And this realization added a new level of nerves and excitement to everything they said or did in the public sphere.

She wasn't vain enough to believe that they were the talk of the season. There were others who appeared to catch far more attention than they did. People whose names could be heard circulating the general buzz of daily conversation within these tightly drawn circles, and then printed in the papers the following morning. But even knowing that they weren't the _premiere_ couple, Cora couldn't help but feel as though they were being watched each time they danced together, or sat close at lavish dinners or in the same box at the theatre. And she swore she noticed pairs of jealous eyes tracking them while they strolled side by side throughout the city in broad daylight.

And based on a late night conversation with Ann one evening it seemed like she wasn't being entirely irrational with these concerns.

_"Well of course people are staring at you!" She exclaimed, shrinking further down beneath the covers, her hand covering Cora's as it rested just beneath the pillows. "The two of you look_so fine _together!" Her eyes sparkled knowingly, stocking clad foot nudging Cora's leg beneath the heavy blankets._

_Her cheeks reddened and she snorted, rolling over until she lay flat on her back. "Oh stop it, will you?"_

_"I'm serious, Cora! You're far prettier than a lot of these girls! They're all so plain" Ann propped herself up on one arm, hovering slightly above her friend. "When Ava saw you in that Worth gown and on__his__arm, I thought for sure her face would freeze into that permanent scowl. You know, the look she thinks makes her appear darling, but in reality makes her look as though she's in physical pain?"_

_Cora shifted against the mattress, snickering in reply. She folded her hands over top of the bed coverings, her eyes studying the underside of the canopy while she thought back to their earlier evening._

_Ava Merton's dark eyes weren't the only ones brimming with disdain and disapproval. There were countless others who had anticipated pairing their daughter's off with Lord Downton before the season ended. Apparently the abbey in which the Crawley's lived was widely regarded and admired._

_A thought that made her stomach bubble anxiously. She was never really good around a lot of people she was unsure of. And yet, being sociable was an essential requirement for a lady in these parts. She found she could do it, if necessity demanded it of her. But she also found it immensely tiring to go through all the effort of it._

_After a moment of feeling Ann's eyes trained on her, Cora glanced over at her friend, tilting back her face ever so slightly. "Even if that were true," She began rather self-deprecatingly, "I wouldn't go on saying it was because we__looked so fine."_

_Ann's mouth split into a sweet smile and she shook her head slightly, her dark hair running freely down her back. "Of course not, little maiden," She teased, bending low to place a chaste kiss at her forehead. "We all know you're far too modest when it comes to compliments. As well as...other things," A light ripple of laughter invading her words._

_Cora rolled her eyes and felt her cheeks redden with heat from Ann's insinuation._

_Holding her friend's eyes for several seconds longer than was usual, Ann finally let out a heavy sigh, keeping her face lowered. "Well, now I must be off before Freddie gets home. Duty calls, I'm afraid." She peeled back the heavy bed coverings, swinging her legs out from beneath them. "Although," She turned on the edge of the mattress to glance back at Cora and confess, "the thought of sleeping in here seems more an appealing prospect."_

_"Don't be ridiculous," Cora burst into laughter, her body arching from her sudden outburst._

_For what could be more appealing than sharing a bed with a man who cared for you? A man who kissed you and held you close in his strong arms throughout the night._

_What she would give to dream of what it might entail, having felt the beginning stirrings of passion herself._

_Yet Ann didn't share in her amusement, which caused Cora to choke on the sound of her own laughter, her smile fading into a look of confusion._

_Instead, Ann merely flashed a quick grin, which she meant to be reassuring no doubt, but appeared to be sadder than anything else. She shrugged before standing from the edge of the bed and muttered sweetly, "Goodnight my little maiden. May you sleep well till the morning comes."_

Cora really didn't have the time to think of what Ann meant by it all as she was being whisked back into the world of luncheons and dinner parties, and into the company of her Lord Downton.

In fact, she was finding she had very little time left over in her days for deep contemplation or consideration on such matters. She was too preoccupied with her own affairs to truly take notice of other peoples. Just as she was much too consumed with the day to day activities of life in London to continue the habit of writing letters to Newport.

But none of it mattered. She was too focused on meeting the Viscount's mother at present. A long anticipated event that, according to her mother was a test of sorts to see if she could manage a more serious commitment than just conversation over dinner and dancing complicated routines with a smile on her face.

It was to take place on the eve of Lady Charlotte's debutante ball. Most of the focus would be on her, and so, for couples like them, they could steal more time away for themselves. A rarity among London's most elite class in the eyes of their peers. She supposed there was that bit to look forward to, if nothing else. Even if the task of meeting and procuring an invitation from Lady Grantham seemed a most daunting task.

Luckily for Cora, she had Ann's reserve of whiskey to temper her nerves and Charlotte's kind eyes to provide her some measure of comfort.

Lady Spenser had long gone with Charlotte's maid, leaving the girls a few spare moments to imbibe from the silver flask that often appeared from the many layers of Ann's dresses. Cora sat on the edge of Lady Charlotte's bed, one hand wrapped around the bottom right post to steady herself while she precariously leaned forward to take the container from Ann, who was lounging on the cushioned bench at the foot of the bed, her elbows resting on the mattress behind her.

Cora took a swig of whiskey, feeling the delightful burn race down her throat and fill her belly before offering the flask to Charlotte, who sat completely upright in one of the desk chairs, her hands folded in her lap and eyes focused intently on them.

"Come now Charlotte," Ann urged playfully, "don't be a spoil sport now! We're toasting to you!"

Lady Charlotte looked up, her pale blue eyes widening in utter horror at her older sister-in-law's assurances. She stared at the flask, her hand shaking as she took hold of it. Cora tilted her head towards Charlotte, catching her gaze long enough to mouth: _Just pretend._Catching the hint, Charlotte bobbed her head, and Cora released the flask of whiskey to her.

Not long after this, did Lady Charlotte's dressing room feel sufficiently warm. A pleasant buzz filled Cora's mind, and a soothing sensation encased her skin. Deep felt giggles rang out through the air, mostly coming from Ann and Cora, who had taken the responsibility of draining most of the contents of the flask at this stage.

Charlotte giggled shrilly now and then. And as far as Cora could tell, Charlotte was having as much fun as they were while they leaned back in their seats more so now, amusing themselves with embarrassing anecdotes from their own experiences throughout that season.

"Do you recall the Hepworth's dinner party?" Ann asked. Her head shot up suddenly, and eyes focusing on Charlotte's.

"Of course," Charlotte answered softly, mouth straining into a smile.

"Golly," Cora tossed back her head, practically hanging on the bedpost while she exhaled heavily, "what a night _that_ was."

"Remember what a time we had of hiding Charlotte from Lord Hayes!" Ann exclaimed, the edges of her words tinged with laughter.

Cora rocked back to a fully seated position, resounding with similar enthusiasm, "Oh yes!"

"Charlotte dear," Ann started again, her head rolling to one side as she grinned sweetly up at her sister-in-law, "do you remember?"

Nodding, Charlotte offered mildly, "Of course, I do."

"Wasn't that great fun?!" Ann brought her hands together, clapping them together before her face scrunched up in utter delight as she chuckled. "Sneaking into the gardens as we did?!"

"Yes," Charlotte replied, her mouth curling into tight smile.

"Wasn't it great fun though?!" Ann asked again, clearly losing some semblance of retention. "Cora!" She intoned loudly, casting her focus on her dear friend, "Wasn't that a grand old time?!"

"Yes Ann!" Cora moved to swat playfully at Ann's shoulder, but instead missed her intended target, and tumbled forward rather clumsily on the bed.

Her face contorted with laughter, and as she tried to carefully roll over onto her back, everything in the room appeared to be spinning faster than she was moving. Cora soon heard Ann's girlish giggles reach her ears. Opening her ears, she found Ann leaning one elbow into the mattress, the back of her hand gently stroking one side of her face.

"We had a lovely time that evening," She went on in a more calming tone, offering a weakened half smile. Cora saw the heaviness behind her usually warm brown eyes, sensing some distress that hadn't quite reached her words. "It was...just us girls," She murmured softly, taking in the details of Cora's face.

"Yes! We ran through the gardens!" Charlotte broke the tense silence between them with her sharp exclamation.

Ann's hand dropped away from Cora's face, and she sat up straighter on the bench now. Cora turned her face in the opposite direction atop the mattress, taking in Charlotte's scrutinizing gaze.

"Yes, things are always better when it's just us girls, aren't they, Charlotte?!" Ann declared, her fingers brushing across the curve of Cora's neck.

Cora felt a shiver erupt across her skin beneath Ann's touch, and she arched back her neck in response. She hummed a bit out of pleasure, and sensing her delight to this, Ann's fingers dipped lower.

Suddenly, she was jarred out of the hazy trance and felt frightened. It was wrong, all so wrong to wish for such things. It wasn't proper. Cora squirmed away from Ann's light touch, and sat upright swiftly. Her head spun again, black spots flashing momentarily in front of her eyes.

But Ann's voice was bringing her back to the present. A sort of sadness creeping into her words, "You know…the two of you…" Her speech was more stunted now, as though her emotions were finally catching up to her, "…you two…oh you two…are my dearest friends…dearest friends!" She cried out suddenly, her eyes glazing over with tears.

"Oh Ann!" Cora gushed, sliding off the edge of the bed and joining her on the bench. Her heart ached at the unexpectedness of her friend's tears. And she encircled her shoulders, feeling the weight of Ann's head on her shoulder.

"Oh goodness how I love you both," She lamented, her mood taking on yet another dramatic shift. "I love you both so much…so much more than I love…anyone. Even Freddie."

Something in her words resonated deeply in Cora's chest, and she felt herself sobering from the whiskey high they'd been riding out together. Perhaps it was the unexpected appearance of such an admission. Perhaps it was realizing they were in the presence of Freddie Spenser's sister, who would more likely pledge her allegiance to her brother more than her sister-in-law.

Whatever the reason, her arms loosened around Ann's shoulders, and Cora was tilting back her face to find Ann's. Cheeks reddened and tears streaking down them, her bottom lip trembled.

"Ann, no. That's not true," Cora assured as encouragingly as she could. "You love Freddie, and he loves you."

"No," Ann shook her head vehemently, tearing her eyes away from Cora and squirming out of her grasp. "No Freddie loves money. _My_ money," She sniffled, stumbling to her feet toward Charlotte's dressing table. "And gambling it away," She opened one of the drawers and fished out a handkerchief, which prompted Cora to tense and cast a wary look to Charlotte, who sat there completely dumbstruck by what her sister-in-law was confessing.

"That's what he loves," Ann moaned lowly, blotting her cheeks with the cloth before blowing her nose.

Tilting her head to one side, Cora shook it slowly as she said, "I doubt that's _all_ he loves."

Another sniff, followed by a nod before Ann whirled around to face her again. Her expression was stonier now, nearly composed, as though they hadn't overindulged in whiskey a few moments ago, "You're right. He loves having his way with me too."

"Ann," Cora hissed, urging her to stop and remember whose company she was in.

"It's true!" She cried, arms flailing out to the sides. "He…he can't ever have enough of…"

"Ann, please!" Cora leapt to her feet, reaching for the bedpost behind her to steady herself. Once everything felt alright again, she drew closer to Ann's side, "Please, I'm sure that's not true. You're just…you're not thinking clearly. You've had a lot to drink. We all have." She took both of her hands, and patted them reassuringly before glancing over to Charlotte for confirmation.

"Yes," Charlotte replied softly, "yes, I suppose it's just the drink talking."

Cora bobbed her head, looking back at Ann, whose face was screwed up, and she started to cry again. "I'm sorry." She whined in between hurried sobbing breaths. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. Oh God Charlotte," She released Cora's hands and rushed to kneel before her sister-in-law, hands seizing hold of hers and face burying into the skirts of her golden gown. "How sorry I am. You must think me terrible for speaking so ill of your brother."

Charlotte looked up at Cora, her eyes wide and full of horror. Clearly, she wasn't in the habit of providing comfort to others. Clearly, the thought of having to do so now, wrecked a hole of terror through her heart.

Cora shrugged, knitting her brow. She too, was at a loss for how they might help comfort Ann now. When it was apparent all reason was lost on her.

"N-no Ann," Charlotte spoke up, her voice trembling with uncertainty. "No, I-I don't. Freddie can be…well he can be a bit of a…well, a dolt." She laughed a bit nervously; hoping this would bring Ann round and least calm her some.

It worked for they could hear Ann snorting against Charlotte's skirts. When she lifted her head again she was laughing now, "He is a dolt, isn't he?!"

"Yes," Charlotte smiled weakly before deciding, "especially when it comes to women."

"But then I guess all men are. My brother even," Ann turned to Cora, remarking plaintively, "what a dolt he was for letting you leave Newport to come here!"

Suddenly her corset felt too tight, and the room felt far too hot for Cora to conceal the blush that fully flooded both of her cheeks. Her mouth dropped open and she gaped in disbelief, "Ann!"

"What?" Her brow rose to the middle of her forehead and she frown, "He surely was a dolt to let you go! Now the Lord Downton's to have you and David will…well he will just die when he hears the news."

"He won't die," Cora argued, folding her arms in front of her. "He'll find someone else. A nice, Jewish girl just like your Momma wants for him, Ann."

Ann's eyes lowered to the carpet, and Cora thought for sure the subject had been dropped indefinitely. But then she was finding Charlotte's inquisitive gaze, and Ann asked rather despondently, "Charlotte you haven't heard the story, have you?"

"And she doesn't need to," Cora stepped forward, reaching for Ann's shoulders in an effort to pull her away from Lady Charlotte. "It was all a very long time ago," She explained to Charlotte, who remained quiet yet attentive to her sister-in-law.

"My brother was...he was _so_ in love with Cora," Ann practically swooned, her hands tightening around Charlotte's as if she desperately needed her to believe the words. "And she...she loved him too."

"That's not true," Cora persisted, seizing hold of Ann's upper body and pulling her away from Charlotte. "She's just drunk. She doesn't know what she's…oh!"

She shrieked whenever Ann suddenly lost her balance from the precarious stance on her knees and she fell backward onto the floor, her head knocking hard into one of the legs of Charlotte's dressing table. "Ann," Cora bent low beside her and felt Charlotte soon joining her on the other side of her friend, "Ann are you…?"

There was a brief knock on the door, followed by the click of it swinging open just a fraction. Lady Spenser's head popped in, "Charlotte, are you ready it's…" The smooth flicker of assurance soon dissipated from her expression, and she frowned, rather perplexed at the scene she was walking into. "What's going on in here?" She asked sharply, stepping gracefully in front of the door before closing it behind her.

"I'm afraid Ann's not feeling very well, Mama!" Charlotte piped up suddenly in a voice so firm and loud Cora wasn't sure it belonged to her until she glanced over at her.

"I see, and why in heaven's name are you kneeling on the floor? Why hasn't anyone informed me?" Lady Spenser's eyes flickered between the two of them in reprimand, as if unconvinced her daughter's retelling was the truth.

"Sorry Mama," Charlotte bowed her head and rose as she gracefully as she possibly could. "It all just happened so suddenly, you see."

"Yes, everything with your sister-in-law appears to occur so suddenly," Lady Spenser remarked coolly, not bothering to leave her place by the door.

But Cora didn't have time to showcase her indigence to Lady Spenser's obvious indifference to Ann's current state.

Ann was groaning again, and Cora placed one hand at her shoulder, the other behind her neck for support as she slowly helped her sit up. "Ann, are you alright?"

"My head," She bemoaned, swaying into Cora's arms. Her hand felt at the base of her skull, and thankfully when Cora drew it away from Ann's head there was no blood. _Just a raised bump_, Cora internally assessed.

"Is that all this is?" Lady Spenser barked in disapproval.

Cora's head shot up and she narrowed her eyes, "_All this is?_"

But then she saw that Lady Spenser had retrieved the silver flask that lay forgotten on the floor through all of the girl's melodrama. Cora's mouth snapped shut, and she looked away.

"A drunken fall," Lady Spenser snapped, followed by a clamoring noise that prompted all the young ladies to jump. "Well…your attendance is out of the question this evening. But thanks to your foolishness, I will now have to rethink the entire receiving line." She clucked her tongue, her clear grey eyes cold and full of darkness.

Cora watched Ann wince, her face contorting as shameful tears threatened to fall this time. Her grip on Ann's shoulder tightened, and Cora suddenly felt her heart rise to her chest with empathy.

"Imagine how _that_ will look, my son, the heir of Covington Place, without his wife by his side!" Lady Spenser shrieked indignantly.

"I imagine it will look as it always does whenever I am forced to be out in public without my husband, _your son_, _the heir_ of this _wretched_ place, as you say," Ann spat out with such a ferocity that prompted Cora to jump. She opened her mouth to stifle her friends' outburst, trying to diffuse an obviously tense exchange.

"I wonder _Mama_," Ann went on haughtily, tears openly streaming down her cheeks now, "how you can justify his many absences, but not one of mine?"

The muscles in Lady Spenser's jaw flexed, and she dipped her head forward while her eyes flashed with an ire that sent a chill down Cora's spine. Her fingers curling into tightly clenched fists, Lady Spenser retorted through pursed lips, "I can justify Freddie's actions because he wouldn't _dare_ pull a stunt like this on the eve of a family party. You _will not_ ruin Charlotte's coming out with your drunken folly! You will stay up here all night, and we will make inquiries as to what to do with you in the morning!"

"What do to with her?" Cora balked in horror, "Whatever do you mean by that?"

The angry that Lady Spenser was casting onto her daughter-in-law suddenly turned to Cora. With a narrowed gaze of distinct disapproval, she remarked in clipped tones, "That is really none of your concern, Miss. Levinson. _This_," She arched her brow for emphasis, "is a family matter."

Gracefully she turned her attentions back to Ann, but Cora wasn't quite finished yet. Seized by some unknown force she couldn't quite name, she piped up smartly, "Ann is as good as family to me, Lady Spenser! And I shall not watch her be treated poorly!"

"Need I remind you, Miss. Levinson," The stern words spilled out before the grey, cold eyes were fixating on Cora again, "that a lady does not interrupt the natural course of a conversation? Nor does she speak unless directly spoken to?" She paused momentarily, head cocked to the side while Cora felt her face burn from embarrassment at forgetting herself.

She glanced down at the carpet, studying the gold filigree pattern against the deep red, listening to Lady Spenser's continued lecture in front of the other girls.

"If you are to stand a chance at impressing the Countess of Grantham, I suggest a bit of self-reflection on our etiquette and customs before you head down."

There it was. Another reminder that she didn't belong. Try as she might, she would always be _one of those Newport girls. _Always loud and outspoken, always dressed in gauche attire, always the complete opposite of her English counterparts.

Cora's buzz from the whiskey was entirely diminished. Only the sounds of Ann's sniffling, and Lady Spenser barking her final instructions could be heard before the silence ensnared her mind, taking her away from here and to somewhere warm and familiar.

Her heart ached as she thought of the forgotten letters. Surely he was worried. She had made him worry that she was lost to him forever. Perhaps it wasn't forever though. Perhaps it was just temporarily displacement. Perhaps everyone was right, but no one had the nerve to tell her so bluntly as Lady Spenser just now. Perhaps she didn't belong.

She felt her breathing grow heavier as she thought back to her own words from earlier: _He won't die. He'll find someone else. _Words that ran across two continents running parallel to one another in ways she hadn't noticed before. And this time the voice in her head added sardonically: _Someone else who fits better in his world._

And Cora did just what she'd always been instructed to do. She picked herself up off the ground, and moved forward, the best smile she could muster stretched across her thin lips.

* * *

_**So I know I made a big deal about not writing anymore Cobert fanfic. And the truth is, I won't be. I decided to keep going with this one as I really do need to get into the habit of finishing my pieces. So I will definitely close this one out before taking a final bow &amp; hanging up fanfic for this fandom for good. Thank you to everyone who has been encouraging &amp; supportive of me/this piece, it really means a lot! *bows to you* Also, I know this chapter kind of deviated from the traditional Cobert storyline, but really, I felt I needed to kind of acknowledge some of the OC I created in this piece otherwise, what was the point of me creating them in the first place? Don't worry, Ch 14 will be somewhat of a continuation of this chapter &amp; will end on an interesting note for Robert &amp; Cora. As always, if you have any thoughts-good, bad, and/or constructive, please let me know! Thanks again! xoxo, Lynnie **_


	14. Meeting of the Matriachs

_**After nearly a year of inactivity, I suppose I'm going to reopen this can of worms. This definitely isn't my best work, but jumping back into a universe you created nearly one year prior never is. Anyway, hopefully you enjoy this. I've had to rethink my whole process for this work, but hopefully this is still an enjoyable read.**_

* * *

The suggestion that his mother "get to know_,"_ Mrs. Levinson and her _most charming_ daughter, was met with as much resistance as Violet could muster without inciting a heated row in front of her children. She rerouted their conversation the entire carriage ride to Covington Place, as if by not acknowledging that her husband and her son simply refused to count her opinions on the matter, she might be able to change the outcome.

But as they slowly shuffled into the grand entrance way, and nobody seemed to wish to comment about the newly installed (and rather ostentatious) chandelier hanging in the atrium or the up to date floral decor that was carved masterfully into the pillars they stood in between, she gave in.

"Which one is _she_?" The question came out as an exasperated sigh, her eyes straining to look over the shoulders of those moving through the grand atrium of the house.

Robert found himself directly at his Mama's side, and with the best vantage point to see over the sea of bodies that flooded the room in graceful waves. And then he discovered that he was face to face with her piercing gaze; a look that inspired fear as well as proved to obtain desires results.

He cleared his throat, eyes flickering among the guests, searching for any familiar feature that he grew accustomed to belonging to her. His eyes scanned the back of ladies heads, hoping to find her distinguished ebony coils she generally piled high above her head. There were several ladies with shades similar floating about the room in a frivolous fashion. But he knew none of them were her. For none of them were accompanied by a woman with a shocking shade of copper hair who had suddenly tossed back her and let out a booming cackle.

Robert immediately felt a shot of blood course through his ears, followed by a rush of warmth that crept up the back of his neck. Willing himself to remain wholly unaffected by Mrs. Levinson's outright display of emotion, so as to not to give Mama any further satisfaction, he leaned closer to her and kept his eyes focused forward on the Levinson women. He spoke calmly and clearly, nodding in their general direction for his mother's benefit, "See that woman standing near Charlotte, in the orange? That's Mrs. Levinson. And beside her in red is her daughter, Miss. Levinson."

His eyes shifted, attempting to gauge his mother's first general impression. She blinked a few times, as if she had developed an impediment to her eyesight. And then came her taken aback exclamation of, "Gracious, did they buy out the entire Worth collection, I wonder?" Her hand flew to the gold broach clasped at her throat, her fingers running across the simple, diamond studded surface.

"Violet," Came Lord Grantham's gravelly warning tone from behind them.

"What I would give for a gown like that!" Rosamund whined enviously.

Robert shot a barbed look over his shoulder, to which she shrugged and gaped openly, "What? They're stunning!"

"And rather gauche," Violet added sharply, rolling her eyes at Rosamund's enthusiasm.

They moved a few more paces towards the receiving line, and Robert's stomach tightened as they drew closer. He felt his fingers curling into his palms, fingernails digging anxiously at the flesh there. His shoulders tensed as he heard another intake of breath from his mother, and he braced himself for another sharpened remark regarding the Levinsons.

"And the stones, do you think they mined half of the new world for the sake of dressing themselves up this evening?" The words nearly came out in a strained chortle, signaling Mama's amusement at her latest critique.

Rosamund exhaled out of exasperation, "Stones are in style now, Mama."

"In style, yes," Violet inclined her head before she lifted her index finger, and added knowingly, "But not in abundance." Her hand swept in the Levinsons general direction as she went on brusquely, "They look more out of the place than Louise's new chandelier in the foyer."

"Violet," Lord Grantham warned again, the words sounding gravellier this time, "try and find _something_ kind to say to her."

"Why should I?" She immediately balked at this statement.

Robert immediately felt his hands ball into fists. _Why did she have to make matters more complicated than they already were? And of all times, why _now_?_

"She thinks she can just _breeze_ across this world with her good looks and lavish clothes and take a position just to appear fashionable to her friends back home."

"I'm not so sure she sees it that way," Robert argued, his narrowing gaze finding his mother's.

Violet blinked back at him for a few seconds, her brow arching rather curiously. And then he saw the ripple across her jaw, and felt himself recoil at the words that followed, "Well how _else_ would she see it, Robert? She has yet to see Downton."

"But she's seen Robert," Rosamund interjected hopefully, "Perhaps that is enough." Her lips curled into a knowing smirk, and she tried to murmur under her breath, "It certainly was before."

Robert felt his cheeks flush with heat, and as soon as he saw his mother's head whip around and produce a scolding glare at her daughter, he knew she had heard the snide remark. A reference to what he felt was approaching ancient history, however, it was a moment in time still lingering closer to the present than the past.

"Rosamund," Violet practically growled, her hand curling around Rosamund's forearm as she continued through gritted teeth, "you will hold your tongue on matters you do not understand."

She wrenched her arm away from Mama's grip, and countered rather acridly, "Or matters you _think_ I don't understand Mama!"

"Rosamund," Papa admonished through terse lips, his eyes flashing venomously. "Listen to your Mother. Violet," He paused, his tone then lightening, and his lips curling in an attempt to produce an amicable smile, "please. Let's just try to enjoy ourselves this evening and _not_ make waves. Yes?"

"Oh darling, don't be ridiculous," Violet gushed with a falsetto that only those in the immediate proximity could detect, "when do I _ever_ make waves?" A look of pseudo innocence crossed her face for a split second, and then she was turning back towards the receiving line and greeting each of them as though nothing had happened.

"Oh Louise! How good it is to see you, my dear!" Violet reached for her hands, grasped them, and leaned forward to kiss both of the older woman's cheeks. She turned to the rest in the line, greeting each of them in a similar fashion. "And Freddie too! We haven't seen as much of you lately! But with a new wife, I'm sure that's to be expected. And of course, here is the lady of the hour. Dear Charlotte, I do hope you will be kind enough to save room for Robert on your dance card."

Robert's ears burned from the sudden mention of him in such a manner. He immediately countered as politely as possible, "Oh Mama, I'm sure Charlotte's already been bombarded with more than enough suitors for this evening."

"I do have one spot open," Charlotte's soft voice reached his ears.

He readjusted his focus to Charlotte, her thick lashes fluttering as a warm smile creased her lips.

"Oh, what luck?" He heard his Mama resound in a seemingly innocent voice. "Isn't that lucky, Robert?"

He was on the verge of suggesting that it _was_ lucky for politeness sake. And it most likely was lucky. But not for him. No doubt some other man would be lucky to have her in his arms in place of him. He wasn't much in the mood for dancing with a variety of women tonight.

"It's a waltz," Charlotte went on tentatively, her smile deepening. Her ivory cheeks flushed rosily as she stammered, "I-I remember you saying how much you preferred to waltz over anything else at the Jarvis' ball." Charlotte offered hopefully and he found he couldn't refuse her.

"That I did," He remarked, his eyes moving over to find Miss. Levinson with her head bent towards Rosamund's as they spoke in lowered tones.

Something he couldn't hear was said, and suddenly Miss. Levinson was grasping Rosamund's hand and letting out a shrill melody of giggles. His mouth twitched at the corners, and her eyes traveled across the cluster of people to rest upon him. And then something changed. She swallowed the lingering notes of her laughter, her smile morphing into a more reserved expression. She looked away, turning once more to speak to Rosamund, as if what his sister had to say was entirely captivating. And he wasn't entirely sure, what had incited such a reaction in her.

"Robert," Violet snapped, prompting Robert to nearly jump out of his skin. "Are you going to make this poor girl suffer to wait for your decision? Or will you indulge her?"

"Sorry," Robert blinked, and with a shake of his head, he tore his focus away from Miss. Levinson. "Of course," He offered his best smile to Charlotte, "I would be honored to share a dance with you Lady Charlotte."

"Good," Violet inclined her head, a satisfied smirk spreading across her lips.

Charlotte smiled warmly, eyelashes fluttering unnecessarily as she offered her dance card to him with a grandiose amount of showmanship, "The honor is mine, Lord Downton."

He scrawled his name without preamble or further comment, keeping his focus on the present task at hand. Robert heard his father introduce in his assured tone, "Mrs. Levinson, I wonder if I might present my wife to you? Lady Violet Crawley, the Countess of Grantham. Violet, this is Mrs. Martha Levinson of Newport. And her daughter, Miss. Cora Levinson."

"Lady Violet we meet at last!" Martha instantly came alive, taking both of Violet hands much to her shock. "I must confess, we thought you were something of a mirage." She chuckled as though amused by her own words.

Robert felt his shoulders tighten as he watched his Mama tense.

"We've heard your name so many times in conversation over the course of the season and yet…we are only just meeting you now that it's nearly over," Mrs. Levinson cocked her head to one side, and smiled, revealing two rows of shockingly straight teeth.

"And such a pity that is," Violet returned with much less enthusiasm. She removed her hand's from Mrs. Levinson's, and arched a brow as she chose her next words carefully. "But I'm sure you have made numerous acquaintances this season, Mrs. Levinson. Or at the very least, caused something of a stir with your presence."

"Well I should hope so," Mrs. Levinson replied, seeming nonplussed by the slight Violet had intended to unnerve her. "Otherwise what would have been the point of this trip?" She let out another chorus of ringing laughter.

Robert felt his heartbeat quicken as his Mama paused, the muscles along her jaw rippling. He inwardly prayed that she would remember his father's earlier words and find _something_ _kind to say to them. _

"Was _that_ what you were hoping to accomplish?" Violet wondered as though it was a rather curious objective to wish to possess. "I would have thought your motives rather different." With this statement, she allowed herself to chirp delightedly.

Robert watched Mrs. Levinson's self-assurance shake a bit. Her broadened smile shrunk into a knowing smirk, and then she rebutted in an air of pseudo amazement, "Oh you English astound me. Everything you say is a riddle to be deciphered."

"Well I suppose they don't emphasis the art of well-crafted conversation in America," Violet chortled momentarily, prompting a scowl to etch across Mrs. Levinson's expression.

Robert felt himself swallow hard, and his head began to spin as he racked his brain for a way to intercede. But they were too quick, and even his father, who usually could take control of his wife in the social arena when necessary, was distracted by a side conversation with Miss. Levinson and Rosamund.

"But," Violet interjected, her gaze traveling over to the group that had gathered on the other side of Mrs. Levinson, "I suppose Miss. Levinson has _other_ qualities to offer."

"Cora's rather skilled with discussion," Mrs. Levinson argued, seizing her daughter's forearm, and pulling her closer in a rather violent fashion.

Robert watched the gaiety suddenly vanish from Miss. Levinson's pale blue eyes, and a deep shade of scarlet invade her cheeks. Her full lips rounded into a perplexed oval, and when she found Mama watching her intently, she lowered her eyes to floor.

"Really?" Violet resounded in shock, "Well, perhaps it is a talent that takes time to uncover then."

"Gracious Violet," George practically snapped, nearly losing all sense of composure, "you haven't given the poor girl a chance to chime in. She's got on just fine with Rosamund and I for the last several minutes."

Her mouth drew into a tightened line, and she retorted swiftly, "And knowing you, _my dear_, I'm sure the topics were just _stimulating_. Were they not Miss. Levinson?" She looked back at the young girl expectantly.

Lifting her eyes, a fraction of an inch, she managed to respond with a sweet smile, "Lord Grantham is an excellent conversationalist."

"Well, I suppose anyone can be for a few minutes at a time," Mama huffed.

George grumbled, "Yourself included, dear."

Thankfully Mama had enough tact to ignore him, and she found another topic of conversation to explore, "Your gown Miss. Levinson…it certainly is…_interesting_."

"It's a Worth," She replied a bit stiffly at his mother's intense analysis of it.

"Yes," Violet inclined her head before remarking, "So I thought it might be. I recognize it from the show last year in Paris. I can't say I thought any young lady would _dare_ to wear such a thing. But I suppose that's another difference between _us_ and _you Americans_."

"You must forgive my wife, Miss. Levinson, she has a rather jealous streak when it comes to ladies' fashion," Lord Grantham placed a hand on his wife's shoulder, squeezing it until she relented and took a step closer to him. "But I'm afraid I'm partially to blame because I haven't indulged in her need to enjoy the finer things in life as of late."

The muscles in his mother's jaw rippled, and she casually brushed off her husband's hand with a light flick of her lace trimmed fan.

"You carry it quite nicely though," His father went on, admiring her in a purposeful manner. "A rather suitable color for such an exotic beauty such as yourself. Wouldn't you agree Robert?"

When her gaze fixed upon his once more, Robert found he couldn't quite speak straightaway. He swallowed the lump forming in his throat, feeling a rush of warmth that spread throughout his ears. "Uh, yes," He cleared his throat with a slight cough and nodded deliberately this time, "yes, the colour is a suitable one, indeed. Yes."

She smiled until that familiar sparkle reached her eyes, and he couldn't look at her any longer for fear he might collapse from the increase in temperature.

"Cora," Mrs. Levinson nudged her daughter's side, "well? What do you say to such a generous compliant?"

"Thank you," Her mouth stretched into a tight smile, and she bobbed her head politely, "you're all very kind."

"Yes, well, if you'll excuse us, we must be moving along now," Violet returned the same tense expression before shooting a momentary glance over her shoulder. "We don't want to be the sort that holds up the line. It's rather an improper practice here, you see. Besides, I think I see Lady Shackleton over by the refreshments. Rosamund owes her son a dance, so we must be off." Her eyes casual scanned the crowds, and she gestured vaguely in a direction that was on the opposite side of the room.

"Oh what a pity," Mrs. Levinson remarked sardonically.

"Yes," Miss. Levinson piped up insistently. "It _is_ a pity Lady Grantham."

Violet shot her an indifferent look, assessed her expression for a few seconds, and then added, "No need to be so emotional about it, my dear."

"I only meant…" She tried again, faltering a bit under Mama's unwavering gaze, "...I was hoping to know more of you."

"Oh have no fear, Miss. Levinson," Violet reached for her hands, patting them rather listlessly. "I am _quite sure_ Lord Grantham and Lord Downton will _insist_ upon placing us in those sorts of positions." She managed a smile that appeared more like a grimace before releasing the young woman's hands.

She was then intercepted by George, who placed another hand on her shoulder, steering her away from the group. "And you will insist upon learning more about Miss. Levinson, won't you Violet?"

Per usual, Mama was not acknowledging his attempt to control her in this moment. Turning away from all of them, she raised a hand and called out to someone who was apparently lingering across the room, "Oh Esme, darling! How lovely to see you again? Rosamund, come along now!"

Attempting to keep calm, Lord Grantham chuckled softly as though amused by his wife's behavior. He made a point of cordially acknowledge the Levinsons, "Well it was a pleasure seeing the pair of you again."

They exchanged similar pleasantries before watching Lord Grantham take his leave.

"Well Lord Downton," Mrs. Levinson intoned, "are you planning on being _the sort _your mother so clearly disapproves of?" She jerked her head in the direction of the newest arrivals to the party.

He felt his throat tickle from a light peal of laughter, "Well I...it's just that...I wondered if Miss. Levinson might wish to join me for a bit of refreshment? Before all the dancing begins?" He looked hopefully to her, and then back to her mother.

"Oh a drink would be divine!" Mrs. Levinson exclaimed, clasping her hands together in delight, "These ballrooms are always so hot and stuffy." She flicked open her fan and began fluttering it in front of her face as if to accentuate this point.

Robert looked back to Miss. Levinson, only to discover she was keeping her focus mostly downward, only catching his attention from beneath her eyelids, "I find myself rather content at the moment, but thank you for the offer, Lord Downton." She tried to smile, but there was something behind her eyes that didn't convince him.

"_You_ might not be in need of refreshment, but I certainly am!" Mrs. Levinson nudged her daughter towards him, "Go on with him Cora, and bring something back for your poor, old mother!"

She took a few paces forward, but didn't lift her eyes more than a fraction.

"We won't be long," Robert assured the both of them, offering his arm to Miss. Levinson.

Mrs. Levinson waved him off, half turning towards the newly arriving guests, "I'm not going anywhere, take your time."

Cora slowly linked her arm with his, and let him guide her through the throngs of people chattering about the room.

He dared to cast a sideways glance at her, seeing a vacancy cross her profile. She seemed to focused on the refreshment table, her steps mechanical as they maneuvered carefully.

Clearing his throat, he stole her attention, and tried on a smile. "So...you've now met Mama," He stated rather obviously.

Her mouth curled up at the edges, and she inclined her head, "Yes."

Looking ahead again, Robert hesitantly probed, "What...what do you think?"

"She's…" Cora paused, chewing a bit on her bottom lip before deciding humorously, "rather…sure of herself."

"Indeed she is," He chuckled with similar amusement. "Sometimes _too sure_, I'm afraid."

"Well it is a rare quality to find in an English lady," She snorted a bit at this, obviously looking to him for a comparable response.

But he didn't quite catch her meaning. Pinching his brow, Robert wondered rather curiously, "What makes you say that?"

"Well I…" Her eyes widened, and she unhooked her arm from beneath his, "...I don't know exactly…forget I said anything of the sort." She turned towards one of the staff who was pouring and serving freshly made drinks.

Robert took one of his own from the young man, inclining his head in thanks. And then he watched her from the corner of his eye, as she drained the contents of the glass, recalling her earlier aversion to his request for refreshment.

"Miss. Levinson?" He couldn't stop himself from frowning out of concern. He leaned in, capturing her eye as she took another glass from the staff member. "Are you…is everything alright?"

"Oh yes," She arched a questioning brow as if the motive for his question was unfounded, "yes, everything is just fine."

He remained unconvinced, "Are you…quite sure?"

"Indeed," She assured, flashing what he deduced to be a tired smile. Then she looked over her shoulder, and muttered rather distantly, "Now, we should be getting on. My mother...she'll be expecting her drink."

Robert felt an unexpected pang shoot through him, and he couldn't help the protest that came out, "Surely she can wait a moment. She did say we needn't hurry back." He reached forward, catching the black silk of her gloved forearm.

She looked back at his hand on her arm, and then up at him. "I suppose, she did," She stated plainly. And for a moment, he noticed the muscles in her face relax. But then, something caught her attention from the corner of her eye, and she remarked softly, "Even so, I won't keep you. I'm sure your Mother would like…"

"My Mother is too fixated on settling Rosamund this evening," He assured.

"I'm sure she'll want to settle you in as well," Cora lowered her eyes to the floor, murmuring quietly in an almost inaudible tone.

His mouth dropped open, and he suddenly felt utterly helpless. "I-I don't understand."

She flinched at his tone, and then shook her head, "I-I'm sorry. I-I am being rather foolish this evening." She laughed anxiously, "Forgive me."

He didn't see a reason for her to be apologizing, and so he could only surmise it had something to do with the earlier exchange with his mother. "Miss. Levinson if my Mother has offended you in some way…"

"She has not," She replied flatly, trying to shoot him a reassuring smile.

Robert started tentatively, "Then…forgive me, but I'm inclined to believe based on your sudden change in demeanor that everything is not _just fine_."

She blinked at him a few times, considering his words. And then, she told him, "I suppose I'm a bit tired. All the excitement of the summer is having an effect on me."

He supposed part of it was true. But there was something guarded about her, that suggested something much bigger than fatigue was playing a part. Still, it was apparent she wasn't inclined to divulge more to him. So he decided not to press the matter, and instead, he merely commented, "Well I certainly hope that's all it is."

"I'm sure of it," She nodded, her attention fluttering about the room.

Robert took a sip of his drink, because there wasn't really anything else he could think to say or do at the moment. His heart was hammering fiercely inside his chest again. But this time, it was for a very different sort of nerves that took hold of him. The damage had been done.

* * *

The cloudiness that descended upon her mind was lifting. But in its place, a sort of fatigue had fallen over her. And Cora wanted nothing more than to leave the merriment that soared throughout the party in giant waves. Still, everyone else seemed intent on keeping her alert and lively.

Her mother kept pushing them into social circles with the ladies, insisting it would only help her further solidify herself in this world in a way she could never be in New York. Charlotte, giddy with more champagne and offers from men all over the county, took every opportunity to pull Cora aside and bestow her with confidences. As if, Cora had somehow become an expert on dealing with gentlemen. A thought that was nearly laughable to her. She could barely handle the one that preoccupied most of her time, let alone the handful Charlotte's youthful charm had brought along in a singular evening.

But her mother, determined to not allow Lady Grantham think her daughter "too weak or frail," to keep up with her English counterparts, brashly accepted each of Lord Downton's requests to "get some air," or "see this new painting that Freddie's told him all about." Like everything else in her life, it appeared Cora had little choice.

Still, following her last shot of champagne, she was grateful for the cool night air that swept around them as they strolled along the balcony. She ran her hand along the gray stone railing, feeling the roughness beneath the silky quality of her gloves. Her eyes flickered out into the darkness that engulfed the sweeping grounds. Her eyes lifting up to the tiny pinpricks of light that winked across the raven sky. And then she caught it, the brilliant sheen cast from the engorged orb of light. It cast a soft glow to the hills that lay beneath it. And Cora was suddenly struck with a memory that made her lips curl upward at the corners.

But then he, like all the others, was saying something. Forcing her back to the present. And the vivid image suddenly blew away, like the wisps of smoke from a candle newly snuffed out. Cora found herself scrambling for something that wouldn't sound too disingenuous.

Turning her attention back to Lord Downton, she arched her brow, and wondered in the sweetest tone she could muster, "I'm sorry?"

"I said, the music…it's been rather lively tonight," He repeated himself, clearly unnerved by the quiet reverie he was intruding upon.

"Oh yes," She inclined her head in similar agreement, "I found myself nearly losing my breath during that last waltz." She flashed him a smile before looking down at the empty path before them.

"Perhaps, we should find a bench then?" He suggested most chivalrously, gesturing towards an empty one carved out of stone.

"If you like," She replied, sinking down onto one side. Her crimson skirts trimmed with black lace and beads took up nearly half the thing.

They both chuckled in quiet amusement by this realization that neither one of them vocalized. And then, they were cloaked in a most uncertain silence.

Her hands rested atop her lap, folded together most properly. And she cast a sideways glance at him to see his rigid atop each of his knees. His eyes met hers, and she felt her cheeks flush, and the desire to look away shot through her.

But in spite of this, he asked, evident concern flooding his voice, "How are you feeling?"

Another look over at him, another smile, this time accompanied by the shrug of her shoulders, "About the same."

"I hope you aren't ill." He remarked a bit solemnly. She noted the shade of his pale blue eyes had shifted here, "I heard Lady Ann had fallen ill before the ball and…I...I would hate for you to catch whatever it is she's come down with."

The thought of Ann struck through her heart like a mortal wound. Her poor, sweet Ann, she was forced to abandon for all this frivolity. Her dearest friend. Her most trusted companion. At the heart of her suffering, she was locked away, to endure it all without any ounce of kindness.

Cora felt her vision blur at the mere thought of it all. And she swallowed the lump in her throat, blinking several times and shaking her head, "No, no, I don't think it's that."

And then she found, she had to look away. She felt as though her eyes betrayed her. She felt like her expression read as clearly as the pages of a book.

He must have noticed, he had to have, for all he could bring himself to say was, "Well, good."

They gave themselves to the sounds of the night. The faraway screeching of the string instruments accompanied by the rhythmic thud of feet scrapping across the floor. The sounds of laughter breaking through the muffled hum of conversation that ran continuously, like cogs in a greater machine.

Then the crickets chirped in a melody all their own. The leaves rustled as another slow breeze came through. And the hurried crunch of footsteps on the graveled path below, soon followed by a peal of raucous laughter, signaled some mischief was afoot nearby.

This realization made the pair of them feel a bit disoriented, for they both sought to bring the conversation back to life.

"So…"

"There was…"

"Oh…" She chuckled, and then he did, both their faces reddening a bit.

"Go on…"

She smiled, a bit relieved that her nerves weren't the only cause of their stunted conversation, "I was just going to remind you, there was something you wanted to talk about." She looked over at him from beneath thick lashes rather expectantly.

His expression brightened a bit at her mentioning a sliver from their prior conversation that evening. A bit that he clearly thought she would have forgotten. And then he nodded, suddenly more animated, "Oh yes, well, Papa…and Mama of course…wanted me to ask you if you'd…well if you and your Mother would like to visit us at Downton."

In that moment, her heart stopped. And it suddenly felt hard to breathe. Still, Cora had been born and bred for a moment like this one, so she did her best not to appear too stunned for too long. "Oh?" Her mouth rounded, head tilting to one side as though this was a most unexpected invitation, even though she'd spent the whole summer anticipating it.

"Yes, we're retiring at the end of this week," He looked ahead, his fleetingly sentimental tone suddenly retreating to a bit more formal air. "Our village has an annual church bazaar and well…it would be good of you to come. If you'd like to." He glanced back at her, allowing his mouth to crease in a hopeful smile at the last phrase.

"Shouldn't our mother's settle this?" She wondered, attempting to sound more rational than her expression was allowing her to feel at the moment.

Lord Downton seemed a bit taken aback by this, yet he nodded, "Yes, of course. Of course, it's just…I was hoping to…" He hesitated, his pale blue eyes, full of a sort of anxiety that she recognized as filling her insides. And then he allowed himself to finish the thought in a single breath, "...well I wanted to see what you thought of the idea."

It was Cora's turn to feel taken by surprise now. "You want to know what I think?"

"Yes," There was a fleeting moment of hurt at her disbelief, but he soon overcame it with the reminder of something he evidently thought he had spoken to her before, "...of course. I've told you before that I…I care to know your opinions."

He cared. Her heart swelled with this sentiment. And her body filled with an unexplainable warmth that nearly carried away all of her sensibilities. She felt as though she were floating above the scene, not actually participating in it.

And then it was his tone of questioning, that drew her back. "Well?" He prompted, inclining his head.

Shaking herself out of the sensation that overtook her, Cora decided rather brightly, "Well then, if we are both in agreement that we'd like to learn more or one another, I think me visiting Downton is a fine idea."

"Splendid!" Lord Downton exclaimed with more enthusiasm than she was accustomed too. He reached forward, his hand covering hers as he assured, "I'll see to it that Mama gives your mother the dates."

She smiled, although the thought in itself made her stomach twist in knots.

* * *

_**I know this was massive. And probably kind of pointless/not very good. But I do want to thank the select few who have consistently expressed interest in this work. You know who you are, and you are absolute gems. Your support, love &amp; encouragement has meant a lot to me! Thanks for pushing me to write &amp; I hope that I satisfied your curiosity with this update! Also...I apologize for the typos, I hope they didn't make this too horrendous of a read.  
**_

_**Much Love, **_

_**Lynnie**_


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